Out of the Dark
by FlopsyOllie
Summary: Three lives, brought together by fate, trapped in a rehabilitation facility. Will they find a way to save themselves, before it's too late?
1. Saftey Pins

Out of the Dark

**I was given the idea for this story from **_**Impulse**_** by Ellen Hopkins**

_**I'm well aware that this messes up the Degrassi timeline**__**It takes place in season 5, after Turned Out (J.T sold drugs), but before Together Forever (Craig leaving). Let's pretend that Emma was anorexic before Together Forever, because Craig needs to be in this story.**_

**Chapter 1: Safety Pins**

_**Ellie**_

There's nothing good around here, is there? I try to find one spot where I won't be bothered, where I can take out my tools and give myself some air, but the place is full with stupid nurses in there stupid nurse shoes and stupid nurse shirts. Those dumb shirts that have Mickey and teddy bears on them. As if. I'm not five. Those shirts make me want to throw up.

I walk aimlessly down the hall. Well, not exactly aimlessly. I'm looking for someplace to go, I just don't know exactly where I'm going. So is that really aimless?

I don't need an escort, like I would if I'd be spending time in the bathroom or doing my laundry or something. I'm a Level One, so I can walk around, if I'd like. I can go to the rec. room or therapy by myself. But it's not like I'm really by myself anyway. The stupid nurses are everywhere, and even if it doesn't seem like it, they're watching you. They're always watching you.

Here in the loony bin, this "treatment center", eyes are always watching you. Eyes that try to make sure that you don't try to drop dead again. That's what Sunny Brook is. A place that locks teenagers up for trying the big S. Suicide.

Yeah, you heard me. Ellie Nash tried to die. Surprised? Don't be. Ever since I started cutting, I could never really get over it. Relapses just kept coming and coming. I'm not sure if people ever knew about them or not. You know that time when I told Sean I stopped? Big lie. All those times I told Sauve I stopped? Even bigger lies. Group therapy and all that, it was just a mask to hide everything. I figured since my mom went back on her word and quit AA, went back to drinking every night, I could go back on my word, too.

Then one night, everything got to me, and I cut until there was nothing left. I sank into a world filled with darkness, waiting for the end. The darkness was completely silent, the only silence I'd ever had in my life. It was the best. It didn't last, though. I woke up in the hospital, and landed here.

Most of the kids here are addicted to drugs. That's how suicide came into their heads. The rest of us just tried to die, plain and simple. There are some self mutilators, cutters, like me floating around, but not many.

I decide to go back to my room, maybe it'd work there. I might be getting a new roommate today, if she makes Level One to get out of solitary confinement. I dunno who she is, but they haven't had her by herself for very long.

"Hey, Ellie," Morgan says, a poor soul who was once (maybe still) addicted to crystal meth. I can't say she's really my friend, it's hard to make real friends here when everyone is just as paranoid and crazy as you, but we've talked. I don't know how she stands crystal. The stuff winds you up, and then drops you off a cliff. I mean, if you're going to kick the bucket, then why not just _do_ it already? Instead of letting your brain rot… I could never handle it.

"Hey," I mutter, as she falls in step with me, "Know any place that isn't swamped by nurses?"

She looks at me, her brow furrowing, but leaves it at that. She knows that I want to cut, but she won't say anything. All the big mouths in this joint have no friends, we make sure of that. If you confide in someone that you still need this deadly thing, they're expected not to tell, or they're dead meat. It's just an unspoken rule that everyone knows. They all learn it, right when they come, and live by it, because pretty much everyone feels the same way, no matter how the thought of suicide came to them.

"Sorry… I can't help you there," she says, "I wish, though."

I frown inside my head, ready to scream, and continue walking until I reach my room.

The door is shut behind me, and I sit down on my bed. Arm warmer gets pulled down, and I pull the safety pin out from under the mattress. Even though my gothic/punk style had toned down at the start of senior year, it revved right up again when I got stuck here. What can I say? Arm warmers make everything easier to hide.

The sharp edge of the safety pin pops out, inviting me.

They really shouldn't call these things "safety pins". I mean, I've hurt myself so many times with them, they're not that safe. Trust me, having a razor or scissors on hand would be so much easier, but this is roughing it here. Here, there are no sharp objects for the suicide cutters, so I have to take what I get. I'd love to have a razor. A knife, maybe even a… but I can't think about that. I'll get anxious.

The point inches toward my skin. This is the best part, the suspense hanging in the air right before the cut. The major rush. For some people, it's a nice rush, and the pain makes them laugh. But not for me. My reasons for blood and glittering metal go deeper than that. The rush makes me draw in shaky breathes. The pain, the wonderful pain that is able to replace the uncontrollable, it makes me cry. But I need it and hate it so much, all the same.

This small little safety pin, it doesn't make me shake and cry. It can't, really. Only the bigger scars, the ones that make the blood flow. A dinky safety pin in a loony bin? It can't do much damage. All I can do is draw little beads of blood, or people will notice. I'll get caught. That wouldn't be good. I'd be dropped back down to Level Zero, and back to solitary confinement. Back to therapy drill sessions with Dr. Moon. I don't want to go back to that. Not ever.

The point goes just under my skin, not too deep. I drag it across, and blood comes out, staining my pale skin red. A deep red that I constantly see, every day of my life. It is part of me now, the redness of blood that escapes from my body, a red that I'll never be able to get rid of. But right now, the red is here on invitation. I welcome it out into the air.

I stuff the safety pin back under my mattress. My arm warmer goes back up, and I breathe. I'm okay. No one will see. No one _can _see, or I'm dead.

There is a knock on the door. It opens, and I see it's Hanna, with treats. My Prozac, my daily depression medication. Not that I'm depressed, I don't think I am. That's just what they think, so they stuff the Prozac down everyone's throat until it comes out their ears. The Prozac only makes me a little more sane, a little more normal. It doesn't help much. It doesn't take the pain away, make me soar like self injury does. But I take it anyway, because I'm a good little girl.

But I notice that there is one pill to many. She steps inside and someone follows her. My new roomy. My eyes go wide, because I know who she is.

"Hello, Ellie," Hanna says, "Time for your Prozac," She gives me the pill, and gives the other one to the blond. We each pop it into our mouths, and swallow. We then both stare at each other, amazed over the fact that we have to share a room.

"This is your new roommate, Emma Nelson. You go to the same school, don't you?"

I have to share a room with _her_? Not that I've got that much against her… besides the fact that she's annoying and was always the center of Sean's attention, no matter how hard he tried to hide it from me. I mean, I always knew that he'd leave me in the end, I wasn't good enough (I never am), but she didn't have to butt in. Not that I think she got a gun pointed at her face on purpose, but Sean always loved her. He never stopped. Honestly, I have no idea why he ever went out with me. She's beautiful and smart and funny… everything I'm not.

Not that I'm jealous or hate her or anything. This past summer I decided to try to let go of the shooting. No sense being jealous over something I have no control over (I never had a chance, really. Not a leg to stand on). No sense being angry at some girl who didn't do much except exist (oh, and make me look like an idiot, "Ellie, let him go. He should've done this a long time ago." What the hell?! I know more about him than _her_! Maybe). But I'm still a little mad at her, I can't help it. I guess I have to get over it, now that she's living with me. Wait a minute…

No way. Just no _fucking way_. Emma Nelson tried to push up daises? I'm shocked, a little impressed even. I never thought she'd do that. She was always such a… wimp. I know, I've got pretty high standards for toughness considering my home life and my dad being a soldier, but still. It's just so… weird.

"Yeah," I say, clutching my sheets, "I know her."

"Good," she says, "You'll bring her with you to dinner, right?"

I nod, and she lets herself out, leaving the door open a crack. Really, the doors are only suppose to be shut when we're changing. But no one listens to that rule.

"Hi Ellie," Emma says to me, putting her bag on the other bed. She starts to take her clothes out and put them in her drawers in the dresser we now share.

"Hi," I say, staring at her. Maybe I'll play nice, if I don't go crazy, "Since when are you here?"

"Since I tried to die last weekend."

No shit, Einstein. I was hoping for a little more detail. Stupid newbie.

"Better take your earrings out. And hide them," I tell her, "The nurse will take them."

"But why? Not like I'm going to try to kill myself with earrings…" she says this as she takes out her diamonds. Oh, yes, she's real special. Why'd she even bring diamonds here in the first place? Thinking it was like a fucking vacation? But I shouldn't be so hard on her. If she's here, it means she tried to do away with herself.

Never thought little miss save the environment Nelson had the guts. Suicide doesn't exactly fit her image. My image? Sure. I practically signed up for it the day I cut myself for the first time. But Emma? No. She's got a family and friends, and she doesn't slit her wrists, that's always a plus. I know that she does have an uncontrollable hate for food (yes. Paige has called with all the latest gossip), but how exactly does that come to killing yourself?

"No, but _I_ might," I say, smiling. She looks at me, wide eyed. Really, it's not a big deal for me anymore. To talk about it like that. At least, the outside stuff. Not the inside. When I'm crazy, it doesn't matter, "At least, that's what they think, the nurses. I'm not that stupid. The point of an earring would hardly do any damage, barely any blood at all. I had to take all my earrings out. They took them. Sent them home. It sucks. I mean, I even had to take my belly button piercing out. So by the time I get out of here, the holes will probably all close up. If I ever get out of here. I'm going to charge this place when I get them pierced again. It's just plain stupid."

"Oh," is all Emma says, and stuffs her earrings in her bag. She continues to unpack.

"So, how'd you get here? I mean, how'd you try to do yourself off?"

"Pills."

"Ha," I laugh, "If you're really desperate, you'll use a knife, and create a masterpiece."

I lift up my skirt so she can see my upper thighs, but not my underwear. There, _PAIN_ is etched in scars, jagged and imperfect. It's written once so I can read it, and again upside down, so Emma can read it too. I did that so people could see it without doing a handstand. Generous, aren't I? Or maybe I just wanted more blood. On the other leg there are just plain old lines, long and straight. Not so exciting to look at, but it'd been necessary at the time. I hadn't felt like wasting time writing something else.

"Doesn't look like enough to die to me," Emma says, staring. Ha, the bitch. What does she know about dying from blood loss? Nothing. So she shouldn't be talking.

"Oh, they're deeper than they seem. And there's my arms too," I say, "Those are _way_ messed up. You wanna see?"

"Maybe some other time."

Wimp. But I don't tell her that. I guess I'd be a little creeped out by me too right now. In fact, that little person inside my head is very afraid. But that little person doesn't control me. I do.

Emma doesn't have to worry too much. I'm not crazy like this all the time. Just this hour or so every day, everyone gets like this (maybe I want to scare her, too). It's because the morning Prozac has worn off, and the night pill hasn't kicked in yet. We call it the Dark Hour. There is also a Dark Hour right after you wake up, and pretty much lasts until breakfast.

That's how we all live around here. Wasted. Surviving on one pill delivery to the next to keep our heads above the water. Some float, some sink. Some just stay trapped, not sure whether to go up or down. A tug of war inside your head.

"That's okay," I laugh, "We've got a while. We're living together."

"I'm just glad to be out of solitary confinement."

"How long were you there, anyway?"

"Five days," Emma says, and I start to laugh, "What?"

"Five days is nothing. They keep the really crazy ones at least two weeks, sometimes more."

"How long did you stay?"

"Fifteen days," I say, and smile. Emma just stares. Yes, I'm one of the crazy ones, and proud of it. Then I glance at the clock, "Oh look. Time for dinner. I'll show you around."


	2. Cafeteria Life

**Chapter 2: Cafeteria Life**

_**Emma**_

"This is the cafeteria! Lo and behold it's wonders!" Ellie says, bouncing though the double doors, "Almost as bad as Degrassi's cafeteria. Isn't it just charming?"

I glance around the large, barf colored, room. Boys are sitting on one side, girls on the other. Everyone is huddled in little groups, talking and laughing. Not many people touch their food. Good, I won't stick out so much.

"Come on," Ellie says, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the line. She takes a tray, and gives me one too. I look at the food disgustingly. I want to throw up just looking at it, and there isn't even anything in my stomach, besides the crackers I was forced to keep down so I could take the Prozac.

"Anorexic, right?" she asks, getting mush put on her tray. It looks like… spaghetti or something like that, with salad, and a cheap oatmeal cookie. I just let it get put on my tray, "Paige, the gossip queen, thinks she's my friend. Why, I have no idea. But no worries. I won't say anything. Although, you should stomach some of it. They don't care much about people starving, just killing yourself. That's what this place is. But if you start looking all skin and bones, they'll start to pay attention. And you need something to keep the Prozac down."

It's strange, how she's so dark and scary one minute, and then all happy and… normal-ish the next. I suppose it's just the Prozac. Everyone is tripping on Prozac here, to keep them "normal." Not a bunch of depressed, suicidal, freaks.

I guess that means I'm tripping on Prozac, too. But I guess it's no different to Ellie. She missed out on my depressed-psycho-anorexia-bulimia phase.

I hated this place since my parents checked me in. Just the sight of it disgusts me. Once mom and dad left, they put me in a little room with one bed, and my own personal nurse who checked in every five minutes to make sure that I wasn't dead. Then I got to meet Dr. Moon and spend long hours in her office, talking about my pet goldfish and my "condition." Yup, Emma tried to kill herself, blah, blah, blah. Anorexic? No way. Who cares? We don't deal with that.

To that, I say amen. If they don't care about what I eat, then I'm golden. I won't have to lie about why I'm not eating dinner. People won't ask questions when I go out jogging, or when I sneak into the bathroom at three in the morning. Okay, maybe they'll ask about _that_. But I'm a good liar, and I can be quiet. No one will ever suspect a thing.

Ellie leads me to a table, and we sit down with two other girls. One is a punk rocker/gothic type, and the other looks like a flower child, aside from her eyes, which are hollowed out and numb.

"You guys, this is Emma," Ellie says, "She goes to the same school as me, but she's grade 11. Emma, this is Star, and Krystal."

Krystal smiles, while Star just sort of mumbles a hello and glances at Ellie, the two communicating with their eyes.

"Hi, Emma!" Krystal says, "So why are you here? I mean, besides the usual."

"I used pills, if that's what you mean," I say, breaking up the cookie with my plastic fork and pushing it into the red blobs of spaghetti, "And I don't eat."

"Oh," she says, and watches my fork, "So you're anorexic? Heather is too. She's that girl over there in the pink. The one with black hair. I used a gun myself, but I missed. Hit a bone. Before that, I swear I was addicted to every drug I ever tried. Star used a knife, but she's not really a cutter, like Ellie. Okay, she sort of is, but then she isn't. It's complicated. And then you know all about Ellie, I'm sure."

"Not… everything," I mumble, taking a limp lettuce leaf and placing it on top of the red mass. And I don't really want to know, thank you very much. Got enough problems on my own.

"I thought you guys would be best friends or something…" she says, taking a drink of water, "Whatever."

The most Ellie has talked to me in my life is today. I don't bother telling Krystal this. She's kind of annoying. Like she's had way to much Prozac. Hopefully I won't have to see her much, besides meals.

"Why's her name Star?" I ask.

"Cause she has a birthmark on her stomach that looks like a star. Her full name is Starissa."

I glance over at Star and Ellie. They're whispering to each other. _Yeah, I've got a safety pin… you have a paper clip? __I stole it off of Dr. Moon's desk__… The safety pin came from a nurse. I ripped my bra strap on purpose and one of the stupid new ones gave me it to hold it together… __Too easy_

I couldn't care less about their whispers. Honestly, I don't give a crap about what anyone else in this place does. Just, me myself, and I. And my voice, of course. But we won't talk about her. She retreated in the darkness, before I woke up in the hospital, and She hasn't returned since. Maybe She won't. Maybe She'll stay gone forever, and I can live my life. Maybe not.

I notice Krystal looking across the room at the boys side.

"Take your pick," she says, smiling, "I've got the blond mop top there, Spencer. Almost everyone is paired up here somehow. Of course there's 'no physical contact' but whatever. Everyone finds some way to hook up, especially if you're playing for the other team. You lesbian?"

"No," I say, staring over at the boys. There are a few that are cute, but I'm not really looking to start dating. Not now, anyway. Too much drama as it is. Not like boys are worth anything, anyway. Peter ratted me out, the snitch. He told everyone that I wasn't eating. I was just dieting, that's all. If he never told, my life wouldn't have gotten even worse, and I wouldn't have had to take those pills. As far as guys go, I'm all set.

As I continue looking, I think I see a familiar face. It looks like J.T, but as soon as I see him, I loose him again. _Is_ it J.T? I never heard anything. Why would he be here, when he's suppose to be taking care of Liberty and his kid?

"Does… Ellie have a boyfriend?"

"I dunno. If she does, it's a total secret."

A bell rings from somewhere up above. That means everyone should clear out and be back in their rooms in the next five minutes. For the Level Ones, anyway. I hear that Level Twos get Rec. Room time. Level Threes get TV and during the day they can go out to the movies and stuff, strictly supervised. Level Four, it's graduation time, and you're "cured". At least, to the rest of the world.

"Come on, Emma," Ellie says. We go and dump our trays, and head down the hallway. At first, the girls and boys are together, and I look for J.T, but I can't find him. I think about asking Ellie, but decide against it. Why would she know? Better yet, why would she care?

Soon, the hallway splits. Girls go right, boys go left. Ellie and I retreat back to our room. She sits down on her bed and takes out a book, while I stare out the barred window, just like in prison.

"Ellie?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you still… cutting?" I ask cautiously. Again, I don't care much. Just out of curiosity.

"What's it to you?" she replies, looking up at me.

"I dunno… Just wondering."

"Do you still throw up everything you _don't_ eat?" she asks, glaring at me. But it's a nice sort of glare, which is strange.

"Uh, yeah… but-"

"Look, Emma, I'm gonna try to be nice about this… you see, there's this secret, unspoken rule here. Everyone is crazy. Everyone does things. Everyone _still_ does things. And when we talk about it, it's never spoken of again. If you rat people out, we'll all make sure you're a loner in no time. You get it? It's like… you might walk in here and say 'oh, I feel so fat. Wanna help me sneak into the bathroom without being noticed?' and I just say okay and do it. Same the other way around. That's just how it works, okay?"

"Okay," I mumble, and go and shut the door so I can change.

"Wait," she says, "You gotta do this."

Ellie opens up the door and shouts, "We're changing!" and shuts it again.

"Now go. We've got less than a minute before they break the door down, expecting to find one of us dead."

I change as fast as possible, getting into my old baggy sweatpants and an extra large long sleeve shirt. Ellie is wearing a baggy sweatshirt and black pants. At least we've got one thing in common. We both have to cover up. Me, cause I'm skinny, Ellie cause of her cuts. I wonder how many their actually are. I mean, did she cut everywhere? Or just on her arms and thighs? I guess I'll never know.

Once we're done changing, Ellie opens up the door again, and picks up her book.

"Ellie?"

"What?"

"Do you… do you know if J.T's here?" I ask, staring at her from my lumpy excuse for a bed.

"J.T? Of course. Talk to him all the time. He's in group therapy with us. "Art therapy", too, I think."

Jeez, so I did see J.T. What a surprise. I had no idea he wanted to kill himself. J.T was always so… happy. Guess not.

My stomach grumbles silently, and I wonder again where my voice is. Where'd She go, anyway? Did She decide to bale when we thought we were going to leave this Earth? Maybe now She'll leave me in peace…

But then, She appears, right next to me. Her cold hands dig into my back, her nails stinging through my shirt. She makes the air around me cold, and I can feel her smiling her perfect smile, without even looking. She's always so perfect, something I'll never be.

_Hey. Long time, no see. Missed you._

She's back. And I bet all the Prozac in the world that She's here to stay.

_That's chapter 2. Please, please review! I'd really appriciate it:)_


	3. And It's All Just One Big Prozac Party

**Chapter 3: And it's All Just One Big Prozac Party!**

_**J.T**_

__The big, mint green hallway makes my footsteps echo. Nurses walk past me, there oversized kiddie print shirts flapping behind them. Those shirts are so funny. Is staring at Pooh Bear suppose to cure us? Personally, it just turns them into one big joke. You can't take them seriously when they're wearing those shirts.

"J.T," Rob says, standing next to a rolling cart, fumbling with some medication. He's a male nurse. The guys get male nurses, and the girls get female. That's the way it works. Pretty obvious, huh?

"Yes sir?" I ask, smiling. I'm known as the big jokester around here. I'm funny. If I'm funny, maybe all those therapists will never bother to try to see what's really wrong with me.

"Where are you going?" he says. I stare at his blue top, with the Sunny Brook logo in the corner. Luckily, the guy nurses don't wear Pooh Bear shirts.

"Group therapy."

"Don't get lost, bud."

"Don't worry, I won't. But, ya know, this place is so confusing…" I laugh, and continue walking.

I reach room C-5 and shut the door behind me. C for Conference. I'm the last one in. I take a seat in my chair and survey the room.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Yorke," Dr. Plair says. She scribbles on her clipboard for a moment, and then looks back up at all of us.

Group therapy. Not exactly the highlight of my day. The highlight of my day is always when it ends. When I can finally go to sleep, and stop all the noise swirling around me like a big twister. I really don't like therapy much, since all they ask is: _What's wrong with you? Why'd you do it? Please, I just want to help._

Ha. That whole helping thing? It makes me want to laugh until my sides burst. They sure don't act like they want to help. They want to know why I did it? Why does anyone want to kill themselves? Because they want to die. Plain and simple as that.

Oh yes, you could say that, but then they want the deeper meaning. The real reason why. What was going on at home? At school? Was there pressure anywhere? Did people hurt you?

They wanted to know the real reasons. The real reasons were simple for me. As Emma or Ellie can tell you, I made a huge mistake, and got Liberty Van Zandt pregnant. I'm having a kid, and I've got no cash. And it scares the shit out of me. So I sold drugs for money, but then it all crashed and burned. I decided to gobble up all those pills I stole and just die.

But obviously, it didn't work, so I ended up here.

But there's more. You know there's more, I know there's more, the therapists don't even know the stuff I just told you, but if they did, they'd guess there was more because usually, there's always more.

What is this _more_?

Well, there isn't any reason why I shouldn't die, that's what's _more_. Both of my parents walked out, leaving a six year old with a stupid yellow mirror. My grandma? She'd manage. Of course she'd manage. So there's no reason for me to not swallow a few pills and let it fade to black.

Enough about me. Which you better not repeat to anyone. Take it to your grave, or you'll be sorry, I swear.

Anyway.

I see Ellie, and give her a smile. She just gives me a look, but I know there are good intentions behind it. Next to her is Emma Nelson. Gee, when did she show up? Wonder why. Next to Emma is Slice n' Dice Star. Her and Ellie are self injury buddies. Not that she ever talks much. Those two seem good at keeping themselves shut away, even on Prozac. Next is Nimble Nathan. He's addicted to some type of drug, and tried to do himself away because he ran out of dough. He's sitting in his chair, fidgeting. Then, there's Hopeful Henry, he's so positive it makes us all sick. Next to him is Messed Michael. Finally, there's me, Jokester J.T. The only ones who don't have nicknames from me are Ellie and Emma. Ellie, cause I realized she's a nice person inside, and Emma cause I don't know her well yet. Besides that whole seventh grade cutesy friend phase. Everything's a lot different now.

"Today, we're going to talk about family," Dr. Plair says, crossing her legs, "Who wants to go first?"

No one volunteers. Wow, _big_ surprise. We're all silent, finding objects around the room to settle our eyes on. I find a vase of flowers. They're yellow flowers, ugly yellow. I hate yellow, ever since Mama left behind that stupid yellow mirror when I was six. The vase is a sky blue, and I wonder why it's still here. What if Ellie or Star tries to break it? All that pretty blue glass, those sharp points… they'd be happy about that.

I come back to reality. Nathan is talking about being abused as a kid. Ellie's eyes light up, but she quickly hides again. I don't know anything about Ellie's past, she won't tell anyone, even me. We've grown close, even though before Sunny Brook I'd never talked to her in my life.

"J.T? What about you?" All eyes turn to me, and I stare at the floor.

Memories come flooding back.

_Rush, rush, rush. Back and forth, back and forth. This goes in that suitcase, this is junk, this won't fit. This I'll throw out, this I'll take with me, this I'll leave behind. J.T, stop it. J.T, Mommy's busy. J.T, not now._

_Mama was running around the house, packing up all her things. I thought it was a game, so I got a bag too, and put all my toys in it. My toys, and my ninja turtle pajamas. I dragged the bag to the living room where it sat on the couch, waiting to join Mama's things in the trunk of the car._

_Mama was going somewhere. An adventure, she told me. A big adventure. Maybe she was going to find Daddy. He'd left ages ago, but he'd be back. He'd come back soon, I knew it. He had to come back._

_"Mama, where are we going?"_

_**What? J.T, what are you doing? You can't come, sweetie. Mama is just going on an adventure.**_

_"Why can't I come?"_

_**You just can't.**_

_Everything was stuffed into the trunk. I ran out onto the porch. Maybe she was kidding. Maybe I could go too._

_Mama took my car seat out, and placed it next to the porch._

_**Bye, sweetie, **__she said, and kissed me on the forehead._

_She got in her car, and the engine started. She started to pull away. I watched from the concrete steps. She had to come back. It was just a joke. She'd be right back, she just wanted to pull a little prank on me. We'd go on an adventure together._

_But the car pulled away down the street. I waited and waited, but the car didn't come back._

_Defeated, I trudged back into the house, and tripped over something. It was Mama's hand mirror, the yellow one. The yellow paint was chipping. Stupid yellow paint._

_I picked the mirror up and hurled it against the wall. The glass shattered, and shards flew in all directions. Then I picked up the telephone and dialed emergency numbers, which were plastered to the wall._

_"Hi, Grandma. Can you come get me?"_

Rotten mother. Leaving a six year old alone, at home. I hate her.

"I live with my grandma," I say, " That's it."

"What about your parents? Where are they?"

" I don't know," I mumble, and I really don't know. They're probably somewhere, doing something, without me.

"How can you not know?" she asks.

God, she gets stupider every day. I keep my mouth shut. It's no use answering to her. What a dumb question. I wonder how she became a therapist, if she's so freaking dumb. Maybe she cheated her way through school. Just picture it. _Dr. Plair: Teen Therapist and All Around Cheater_. Now that would be funny. Maybe even make Ellie laugh.

"Fine," Dr. Plair sighs, ignoring me smiling slightly at the ground, thinking of her as a big cheater, "Who's next? Ellie?"

Oh. My head goes up to little miss vampire. This should be good. Getting Ellie to spill her guts is like trying to teach a fish how to breathe air. It just doesn't happen.

Ellie's been playing with her rubber bands until now, pulling them up to the sky and letting them snap back down onto her wrist. Her wrist is probably red, but I can't see her wrist. Red is better than pale. But now, Ellie looks up, almost frightened. She swallows, and her face goes blank again. Her eyes are like pits. You can't tell anything from her expression.

She looks at the floor, softly digging at it with the toe of her boot.

"I don't have a family," she says, and grips the edge of her seat. Do the words coming out of her mouth hurt that bad?

"Ellie, what about your mother? I saw her check you in."

"Does she act like a mother?" Ellie asks, a hint of anger coming to her voice, "No. So she doesn't count."

"What about your father?" Dr. Plair pushes. Gheesh, doesn't she see the girl wants to be left alone? But everyone here is all about pushing you. Push, push, push.

"He's in Kabul. Peace Corps."

"Where's Kabul?" Michael asks.

"In Afghanistan, you nimrod," I say dryly.

"So he might as well be dead anyway," Ellie says, and then closes her mouth tight. I can tell she won't be talking again.

"Alright. How about you, Emma?" Dr. Plair asks, "This is your first full day as a Level One, right?"

Emma nods.

"So, why are you here?"

"Same as everyone else," Emma says, staring at the chipping paint in the wall. I know, because I've sat there before, and it's the only thing to look at besides Dr. Plair's nose, which isn't a pretty picture.

"That's what we say. But why do _you_ think you're here? Why do all of you think you're here?" Dr. Plair asks, looking at all of us.

"Isn't it obvious?" I laugh, "It's because we were all selected specially to go on a wonderful, pre-paid vacation! Complete with rooming, meals, and doggie treats delivered every morning and night before breakfast and dinner!"

I get a chuckle out of almost everyone, except Ellie. But that's no surprise to me. She never laughs about anything. One day, that girl is going to die from never smiling. Or never being happy. Or from her knives, scissors, razors, ect. I don't think I've seen her smile since Sean Cameron left her in the dust. He was the only person who could make her happy, and he just left her and never even tried to talk to her again. Sean's an idiot.

"That's enough, J.T," Dr. Plair says, glaring at me, "I think that's enough for today. But I want all of you to think about what I said for tomorrow."

Great, homework. That's so unfair. I'm headed to an hour of schoolwork after this. Ellie is too. Wonder if Emma is in our class? All the grades are mixed, so it doesn't matter.

After Group is let out, it's a time when you can mingle with the other gender. I waltz over to Emma and Ellie, smiling just like me, Jokester J.T.

"Fancy meeting you here," I laugh, "Care to join me on a stroll to home away from Degrassi? Room E-8."


	4. Educational Freak Outs

_Okay, so this is chapter 4. I'm so glad everyone likes this story! Thanks so much for the reviews! I really appriciate it!_

**Chapter 4: Educational Freak Outs**

_**Ellie**_

__The desk is small and connected to the chair. They're lined up in rows, front to back. I sit behind J.T. Emma is across the room from me. A felt tipped pen lays waiting on the desk, along with a scrap of notebook paper. Olivia is standing at the front of the room, our teacher for room E-8. E for Educational. Personally, I never learn much. This place has the most stupidest names I've ever heard.

"Hello, everyone!" Olivia says cheerfully, "Today we'll be discussing poetry. I want you all to write a poem like the one I'm about to read to you about yourself. It is by-"

"This should be good," J.T whispers to me, his head turned only slightly over his shoulder so he won't be noticed. I lean in over the cold metal slab as Olivia starts reading.

"At least it's not Shakespeare," I whisper back, "Mrs. Kwan's true love."

J.T chuckles silently, and I smirk. I have to admit, inside I miss Degrassi a little. But not so much. I can live without it. I'm just saying, school wasn't as horrible as this place. At least in school, it was fun _sometimes_. This is just torture.

"I've been meaning to ask you," he says, "Why's Emma here?"

"She tried to kill herself a while ago," I say, glancing over at her. She's listening to Olivia, but also not at the same time. Probably off in psycho lala land somewhere, "With pills. She's anorexic, too. Has been for a while, I guess. Her parents locked her up here."

"Like the rest of us. Pretty soon, all of Degrassi's going to show up."

"Yeah…" I say, and lean back in my chair. Olivia's almost finished. J.T rights himself again, and we're like perfect little students. We don't really need to listen, anyway. I don't know about J.T, but the poem she read I had to memorize for English in tenth grade. So no biggie. It's not like we get graded here, anyway. Just something to send the schools so they'll think we're actually learning something. Besides, what mental case in here actually cares about _grades_?

"You may begin," Olivia says. I pick up my pen, and make a line across the top of the paper, testing it. The ink smears, just like always. They give us crappy pens because people like me might try to stab themselves. Like I'd ever use a pen. They obviously don't understand how our minds work. There are much better things to use than a pen, trust me.

Now I start to write, the words flowing easily. The assignment is a memory poem, a memory from childhood. I don't have much to say about my childhood. I had to grow up fast, be like a mother for my own mother by the time I was in first grade. It wasn't happy, and when I didn't do a good job, I felt pain from her drunken rage. I cleaned up beer bottles, scrubbed the house spotless for Daddy when he came to visit, always to leave again. He never stayed home for long. The longest I saw him was for six months, end of freshman year into sophomore. Those were the happiest six months of my life, but they ended, like everything else. And then my cutting, the reason I'm in this loony bin, started.

_Mother says, put away the _

_dishes_

_Eleanor._

_And I do it._

_Mother says, clean up this_

_mess_

_Eleanor._

_And I do it._

_Mother says, why don't you listen to _

_me_

_Eleanor?_

_And I let her hit me._

_She says, you're a horrible,_

_lying, little bitch_

_Ellie._

_And I just let her yell._

_She sits there on the couch,_

_her brain swimming though masses of alcohol._

_She groans and mumbles,_

_breaking things, making messes._

_I clean and I cook,_

_I do my homework, I try_

_so hard to please her._

_Maybe if I'm good, she'll_

_love me._

_Maybe if I'm good,_

_Daddy will come home._

_Maybe one day,_

_It'll stop being my fault._

_But nothing changes._

_Except mommy dearest._

_The little girl watches the changes_

_of one she used to affectionately_

_call "mother."_

_The name is so unfit._

_It stings her mouth to say it._

_Behind that word, she doesn't mean it._

_Doesn't mean it one bit._

_She watches her mother become drunk,_

_so drunk all the time._

_But then becomes sober again,_

_when Daddy visits._

_Then Daddy always leaves again,_

_and the little girl wants to cry, because_

_she knows things will turn bad again._

_But it's always:_

"_Don't make a scene, Eleanor._

_Just shut up, smile, and wave."_

_So she listens._

_But it's always the same._

_I'm not trying hard enough,_

_I tell myself._

_So I work and work, push and push,_

_until there's no more ground,_

_and I fall._

_And I don't_

_even have the_

_strength_

_to_

_scream._

This poem, what I write, it brings unhappy memories back. I don't want to relive them. I can't relive them. I hate myself, for bringing me back to these awful thoughts. For making me see this horror, over and over again. I'm such an idiot. I don't know why I do this to myself; why I set myself up for this. But it always happens. The memories attack me when I least expect it, dragging me back down into the darkness...

_The laundry. I was suppose to do the laundry._

_I remembered this a day too late. I sat up in my bed, thinking about the laundry. I scrambled out, going to the laundry room in my Barbie pajamas, brushing my messy red hair out of my face. I started tossing all the darks into the washing machine, standing on a chair to reach the knobs. It was past midnight, but Mommy might wake up. She'd get mad if I didn't have the laundry done._

_There was a groan from somewhere in the hall. I looked up, afraid. Mommy came walking in, clearly drunk, the bottle still in her hand. I shut the washing machine tight, and hopped down from my chair._

_**You're just doing it now? **__she asked, taking a swig from the bottle. Then she dropped it on the floor, and the glass shattered. __**Ugh, the mess. Clean it up! Clean all of it up! Finish the laundry!**_

_"But… Mommy," I said weakly, "I'm tired. I've got school tomorrow, and-"_

_Slap! My faced burned where she hit me. She pushed me down, and I barely avoided the glass. She slapped me again and again. I tried not to cry. The washing machine hummed behind me, sloshing the clothes around. I backed up against it, gripping the chair. The vibrations rattled through my body and I wished I wasn't so stupid. I should've done the laundry before. I should've remembered..._

_**I don't care what you have to do! **__she said__** Don't make me call your father! **_**You're**_** the reason he's not coming home again! Because you won't do your job! It's all your fault! Everything you do is wrong! Why can't you just do what I ask?!**_

_Then she stormed out, and passed out on the couch. I finished the laundry, cleaned up the glass, and covered Mommy with a blanket. Then I crawled back into bed and finished my neglected homework with a flashlight. I went to sleep around four a.m, only to wake up again and repeat the cycle over and over and over…_

_I was only eight years old._

My head tumbles out of the memory, and I see I'm shaking. I grip the edge of my desk but nothing's working. My breathing becomes heavier, and I can't catch my breath. My face burns where she hit me. It feels like my face is on fire.

I just can't take this.

I jump up from my seat, my paper and pen flying. I run straight out of the room, and keep on running down the hall. I ignore all the people telling me to stop, to slow down. I just go, go, go, my boots clomping on the tile floor. I try to breathe in and out as I run, but I can't. I can't do it. I can't do anything. I'm worthless, just like she always said.

I blow though the bathroom door like it's a brick wall, and lock myself in a stall. I lean against the wall, sliding downward to the floor, and hold myself. My knees come up tight against my chest, my arms circling around my legs to keep them there. I always sit like this, when memories come flooding back, drowning me in a sea of endless pain. Holding myself together, almost. Just like I would when I was little, sitting in my room. I used to curl up in a ball and hide from her, listening to her breaking things. It's like time is folding in on itself, forcing the past to repeat in the present.

I keep trying to breathe, to calm down. My face burns so much. It hurts. Now my arms hurt. It feels like every little scar is popping open, every slap, kick, punch is being relived again. My mother is in this stall with me, screaming and punching. Spilling alcohol and breaking things. And it's all my fault.

It's strange. I don't want to snap my elastic. I don't want to pull out a knife and create a new masterpiece. Maybe because this is different. I always wanted to cut because of my mother, but not when she was hurting me. Maybe because I was already hurting so much then, I didn't need anymore.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight and swallow big gulps of air. Soon, it calms down. I can see straight again. Olivia is standing outside the stall, talking to me. I get up and unlock the door, walking past her to the sink. She's still talking. I splash water on my face, and breathe.

"Ellie, are you okay?"

I look at myself in the mirror. My face isn't red, it's pale like always. My arm warmers aren't stained red from my scars. My body is still intact. I don't smell like alcohol anymore. The bathroom floors don't have shattered glass, the walls don't have dent marks and stains. It's all spotless, just like it should be.

But I'm still not okay.

"Can I just lie down? Please?"

_That was it. Honestly, I hate this chapter. I despise it, in fact. But I decided to wait to tell you at the end. I don't know why I hate it so much, since writing Ellie usually comes easy to me. The poem bugs me, but it's needed for future chapters. I just hope you liked it more than I did. Sorry if it wasn't my best._


	5. Just Purge It

**Chapter 5: Just Purge It**

_**Emma**_

__"I'll see you all later," Olivia says, dismissing us after an hour of poetry. It's been thirty six minutes and seventeen seconds since Ellie burst from the room and Olivia followed. When she came back, all she said was that Ellie was fine and she was resting in her room.

I don't understand why Ellie freaked out. It wasn't like we were doing anything big. Just writing poems about memories from our childhood. Mine was about making pancakes with my mom when I was four. I remember feeling special because my mom could take care of me and go to school at the same time. I got to live with her and my grandparents. My mom was younger and prettier than all my friend's mom's, and she sometimes went on dates. Even though I didn't have a dad, my life still felt whole. I didn't think I was missing out on anything.

I give my poem to Olivia, and then walk over to J.T. He's still holding a piece of paper, but it's not his handwriting.

"Hey," I mumble, glancing at the retreating psychos around the room, "So what was up with _that_?"

"This might have something to do with it," he says, and hands me the paper. It's Ellie's poem. I read it slowly, and suddenly it's pretty clear why she had a panic attack. Or something like it, anyway.

"Wow," I say, "No wonder. I should probably go check on her."

_Wow. She might actually be more screwed up than you. That's a first._

I don't need your input right now.

J.T gives Ellie's poem to Olivia, and starts to walk with me down the hall, "Tell her I said hi," he says, "I've got therapy with Moon. Just the thing I'm looking forward too. Almost as much as tomorrow!"

"What's tomorrow?"

"Don't you remember, Emma? Tomorrow's Visiting Day. Relatives and friends come, chat, get grilled by therapists with us. It's all so not pleasant."

"Great," I sigh, "That only means my parents, your grandma, Toby, Liberty, Manny, Craig, and Marco! Why don't we just invite all of Degrassi?!"

Saying that I'm getting worked up would be an understatement. Yeah, that whole not eating thing? Gives you panic attacks, mood swings, throwing the occasional breakable object around. Usually I control them, sometimes not so much.

_Calm down. Do you __want__ to be put in a straightjacket?_

I don't want to see them. Why? It's all their fault I'm here. If they'd never gotten involved, tried to stop my diet, I wouldn't have freaked out. I wouldn't have stolen some of Snake's heart medication pills, the kind that make your heart slow down when it's overactive. I figured that if they slowed hearts down, if I took enough, they'd _stop_ my heart. If I took some sleeping pills too, I'd be all set. If no one tried to stop me, I wouldn't have swallowed those little capsules. If no one tried to stop me, I would've kept floating in that wonderful darkness, waiting for life to slip away.

J.T told me that he went into that darkness, too. He asked me about it, what it was like. My darkness was pretty quiet, except for the occasional noise. The biggest noise was Manny screaming when she found me. But I didn't wake up. I just floated, and waited. Waited to fade away. But I never did. The light came back, more quickly than I expected or wanted.

J.T said his darkness was loud. It made him realize how Ellie feels. I wanted to know what he was talking about, but he wouldn't tell me. He said Ellie would, once she trusted me enough. The only thing he would say was that Ellie's darkness was silent. No noise at all. Like she was underwater. The feeling that you're the only person in the world. And then when someone knocks against the glass, everything echoes and slams into your ears.

If everyone hadn't interfered with my darkness, my black little fish bowl of death, I wouldn't have woken up in the hospital after a stomach pump. I wouldn't be stuck here. I'd be dead. I wouldn't have to deal with them anymore. They wouldn't be able to interfere. I could stay in the darkness.

_Come on. Darkness is so overrated._

If my parents didn't split up, this wouldn't be happening to me. If Manny had never hated me because of Peter, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be here tripping on Prozac, staring out of windows with bars. It's all their fault.

I know, I know. To find one fault in yourself is better than finding a thousand in another. You're saying, really Emma, it's really you. Really, you're crazy, your brain is messed up. That's what the therapists say too, only nicer. But I'm telling the truth! They're to blame, not me! Everyone just has a hard time buying that. No one quite believes you when they think you're destroying yourself.

Right now, it seems like I'm working on destroying myself. To the outside world, anyway. Those pills almost destroyed my digestive system since I didn't have any food in me. Throwing up everything destroys my intestines. Maybe one day my body will shut down from all this. Wouldn't that be perfect?

_Yup. Just peachy._

I wasn't asking you.

_Then who were you asking exactly? The __other__ voices inside your head?_

"Don't count on Liberty. What about Ellie's mom?" J.T asks as I come out of my trance.

"You read that poem, right? Who even knows where her mom is right now, physically and mentally…"

"Oh, yeah," J.T says, and turns to walk down another hall to Dr. Moon's office. He waves a goodbye over his shoulder, and I smirk. I continue walking to my room. The door's shut, special privilege since Ellie doesn't feel so great, I guess.

I open the door slowly and peek in. Ellie's stuffing something under her mattress, her left arm scrunched up against her side. I walk in and shut the door behind me, flopping down onto my bed.

"Could've warned me," she says, and brings her arm away from her body. There's a fresh cut there. She must be hiding some sharp object. I wonder how she manages that, with the doctors watching us all the time, like we're mice in a lab experiment.

Any other time, gore like that would've made me throw up. But strangely, I don't react. I don't even feel like staring. Once I've seen it, it's like it's any other daily occurrence, and I look away. It's weird that it doesn't bother me. Guess I've changed more than I thought.

_Holy crap! Maybe we should try that!_

Would you shut up?

"Sorry," I say, and glance at her face. She's looking at me with a strange sort of pain that I've never seen on anyone's face before. It bothers me more than the blood on her arm. I turn and stare out the barred window into the pretty forest and creek out back. Yeah, the psychos get such a nice thing to look at. It would look a little nicer if there weren't any bars. Or maybe if the bars weren't so rusty and dirty, "Are you okay?"

"Not really," Ellie says, "With that whole assignment, and visiting day tomorrow… It's too much. This place really sucks like that. They plan things at the worst times. I so don't want to see my mom tomorrow… if she shows up. Or Marco."

"Tell me about it. I really don't want to talk to my parents, or Manny. I just don't want to deal with any of them."

"That's the only good thing about this place," Ellie says, "It gives you a barrier to hide behind, from the rest of the world."

I just nod, and fall back on my pillow. It's amazing how right she is.

_Beep, beep, beep._

_Why wouldn't that beeping shut up? Did Heaven beep? Or Hell? I probably wasn't allowed into Heaven, since I took my own life. Or maybe I was just floating in nothing, forever and ever. How could nothing beep?_

_Beep, beep, beep._

_I opened my eyes, and bright lights attacked me. I winced, and looked around the room._

_I was in a hospital. There were heart monitors, and an IV hooked into my arm. A bunch of other big machines were all over the place. I glanced over at the wall on the other side of the window._

_ICU_

_So I wasn't dead. They found me, and saved me. But I didn't want to be saved. I didn't want this second chance. Why did they have to do that? I was so close…_

_My parents walked into the room. Their eyes were all red and puffy. They probably used only about five tissue boxes. At first they just stood there. Then my mom came rushing over, hugging me awkwardly, trying to avoid the IV._

_**Oh Emma! **__she whispered, __**How could you? You… **__But then she stopped because she was crying again._

_What did she mean, "how could I"? She didn't know what I was going though. She had no right to accuse me. She was the one who should be taking the blame here. They all take the blame._

_She backed away and let my dad hug me. He didn't say anything. Then they both just stood there, crying like idiots. They just didn't understand._

_We're so glad you're alright, Em,__Snake said, and sniffed, __We were worried. Why'd you… _

_I looked away, staring off into space. I didn't want to see them._

_**Why won't you talk to us? **__Mom asked, the tears clear in her voice, __**If there's something wrong with you, we can get help. You can always talk to us! You didn't have to…**_

_Why wouldn't I talk to her? Because I hated her at the moment._

_They kept trailing off before they actually said it. _You didn't have to try to die. _Were they afraid? I didn't see why. It made me want to laugh, their fear. They didn't understand that death was a welcoming thought. It came to me as the nicest thing in the world._

**Hello, Emma, **_the doctor said, so cheery for being a suicide watcher, _**I see you're awake.**

_I looked away from him, trying to appear as numb as possible._

**Caught you just in time,**_ he said calmly, like we were discussing the weather, best friends catching up over a friendly cup of coffee, _**We're going to need to discuss the options for your-**

_Suddenly, I felt like I was going to throw up. I didn't even stick my finger down my throat. I leaned over the side of the bed and heaved all over the clean, white floor. So much for sanitary._

_**What's wrong with her? **__Mom asked, worried._

**Just a side effect. Her intestines were almost destroyed completely since there wasn't any food in her stomach to absorb the pills.**

_He handed me a tissue. I wiped off my mouth, and then tossed it into the trash can I didn't see on the other side of the bed. No one seemed to mind. The doctor signaled to a nurse to get a mop._

_**Yes. She was diagnosed with anorexia, along with mild bulimia a little while ago.**_

_I kept trying to pay attention, but things were fading in and out, like a really blurry TV screen. Except I wasn't watching TV, it was my own eyes doing it. That was kind of freaky._

**Right. This is just her bodies way of clearing the systems. To repair the damage naturally, it can't have food, or much of anything else really, inside the stomach.**

_So why did the idiot keep me around in the first place if I was just going to throw up and gag and not even be able to eat even if I wanted to (which I didn't)? This was why hospitals were bogus._

_Fade in._

_I didn't like them talking about me as if I wasn't there._

_**Oh. That's good.**_

_Fade out._

**Now I'd like to suggest treatment options. After the hospital, I recommend a stay in rehabilitation facility. One of the best is Sunny Brook. I had two cases like this a little while ago. One was a few weeks back, another just recently. They're both at Sunny Brook now. I believe they were both from Degrassi Community School, like Emma.**

_Fade in._

_Yes, they were my students,__ Snake said._

_What? Some place called Sunny Brook? With Degrassi kids there? No, I didn't want to go. They couldn't make me. But this was so confusing… What was…_

_My eyelids slid shut, and I fell back onto the pillow._

_Fade out._

My eyes open, and I automatically focus on the dim lights in the hall. The glowing neon green digital clock says it's one thirty six in the morning. What caused me to wake up? Worries about tomorrow. Or today, I guess.

Oh, my God. I have to deal with people today. People I really, really don't want to see. And I'm so _fat_.

_Glad you finally noticed, Einstein._

I can feel the bit of corn and mashed potatoes I ate taunting me. It must've been only four bites, and then I wanted to kill myself all over again. I tried to forget about it, after all, I need that in my stomach to keep the Prozac inside me. But I just can't do it. That food will be the death of me, it has to go. The sooner it's gone, the better.

Silently, I get up from my bed and creep into the hall. There are no nurses in sight. The night shift crew must be taking a break. Good. I can't be assisted to the bathroom, or I won't be able to have damage control time.

I sneak into the nearest bathroom. The bright lights blind me for a moment. I check all the stalls. They're empty. I go into the nearest one, and lock the door.

_Brilliant!_

Since when are you British?

_I'm sorry. What about this?: Holy shit! This is fucking awesome!_

I guess.

I stick my finger down my throat, and heave into the toilet. Mush comes up, and it smells sour and horrible, but I don't care. I'd rather not explain it fully. I throw up until it's all gone, and a little blood shows. Then I take the toilet paper, wipe my mouth, and flush it away.

Perfect. Now it's gone. All better.

Ha ha, nice joke, right? If only it was that easy…

_It is that easy._

She smiles, but I ignore her.

I leave the bathroom as silent as I came. Again, the nurses are gone. The floor seems to sway a little under my feet, but I keep walking. I slide back into my bed. I can here Ellie breathing irregularly.

__"Are you okay?" she whispers. Funny, how I was asking her the same thing earlier. I guess we're more alike than I thought.

"No," I say, "I'm not."

And I don't even care.


	6. Degrassi Community Psychos

_Look, this story isn't dead! Ha.. ha.... yeah, sorry about that. Degrassi was really boring for me, so I was like "I don't know what to write!" and I started writing other things for fanfiction, non-Degrassi. Then I saw the movie and I was like "Yay, Degrassi!" especially since Ellie was in it. It was freakin awesome. So now I'm writing Degrassi stories again, and decided to brush the cobwebs off of this, since so many people were waiting. I started this story years ago, long before I even got an FF account, so it's hard for me to write. I just got tired of it, you know? But I have up to (and including) Chapter 9 finished. I'll edit and post up to there, and then we'll see what happens. Okay? Hope you like it!_

_- // -_

**Chapter 6: Degrassi Community Psychos**

_**J.T**_

"J.T," Grandma says and hugs me. I don't really try to hug her back, "It's so good to see you."

I give her a smile, since I know I should. We sit down on chairs in the visiting lobby. Doctors watch you and after a bit, they come over and bring you into a room where you are grilled with your family members. Trying to strip everything away from you and reveal your secrets so you can get "better."

Personally? It's a bunch of shit. I don't believe a word of it. I mean, the therapists are complete wackos. I'm not saying it's good that we tried to die. It's not; I've realized that through solitary confinement and late nights of no sleep shaking, wishing for pills. But those therapists can't help. They don't know the dark places we've all been, how we still are in a dark place. I think we need to look inside ourselves and come into the light on our own. That's the only way it will work. Kill the demons inside our heads.

But that's just me.

"Are you feeling better?" Grandma asks. Feeling _better_? I'm not exactly sick. Not that way, I mean. I can't really feel better. Not yet. Not sure if I ever will.

"I'm okay," I say. I slowly glance around the room. Emma's sitting with Manny and Craig. Her parents will be arriving soon. I'd be shocked if they didn't. She doesn't look so happy. Ellie is all alone, playing with her rubber bands again. I wonder if her mom will show up. Maybe it's better if she doesn't; she might be too drunk. But it'd be nice if Ellie wasn't alone. We all feel alone enough already.

"The doctors say you're doing well," Grandma is saying, "But they were asking me about your parents. I didn't know what to do. Why didn't you tell them?"

"I didn't feel like it," Those "doctors" don't have any right to know anything about me. It's like my own little secret.

"They need to know, J.T. It's important."

It doesn't seem very important to me, but I don't bother to tell her.

"Toby said he'd be a little late," she says, "He wanted to try… to convince Liberty to come."

I just laugh a little, "Did you wish him good luck?"

She doesn't answer. She knows it hurts me that Liberty won't come. Or she's guessing. But I know inside that Liberty won't show up; she probably won't ever show up. I hurt her too much. I don't blame her for not forgiving me. I don't really blame her for putting the baby up for adoption, either. She probably doesn't want to remember me anymore.

But it'd be nice if she visited, just the same.

I have to admit, I'm trying to be positive, unlike Ellie and Emma. I really want to get out of this place. I don't want to miss the birth of my kid. Or I'd at least like to see him before he gets taken away. It's just harder than I thought. There are things that I want to keep inside that the stupid therapists keep trying to poke at.

One of those things that Dr. Moon keeps trying to figure out: my drug days. When I popped those pills at the party and almost croaked, it wasn't my first time. I'd started with other drugs before that. I'd tried crystal meth once, but it just wasn't me. I didn't really want my brain to rot. Coke wasn't it either. Pot couldn't take me far enough away to forget everything and float. Eventually I just settled on any random medicine cabinet pills. Painkillers. They did the job good enough, and I got them however I could.

I even tried heroin once or twice. I would've more, but it's way pricey, and even the Insane J.T isn't that stupid. Though the big H could soar me farther away than anything I ever tried before, I knew it was a really dumb idea. Actually, all of it was a dumb idea, but my mind never worked that way. Never has. I'm J.T, after all. The drugs blew my money more than before. It was money that I could've used to help Liberty. Instead I just used that money to hurt myself. I still feel guilty about it, and it haunts me every time I wake up at night, shaking because I want to fly away into those dark, familiar places and forget. The same dark place I'd thought I'd stay forever.

But not anymore. I don't want to die anymore.

"I'm trying," I say, "I'm trying to do this… it's just hard."

"I know," Grandma says. She doesn't really know, but I won't snap at her or anything. She's my grandma, after all.

"Hey, J.T," I turn around to see Toby, his normal self, and alone. Figures.

Even though I knew, tried to prepare myself, it still hurts.

"Toby," I smile, and we have one of those awkward guy-hug moments. You know those things? "Good to see you."

"You too," he says, and sits down next to me. Grandma goes and gets a drink of water, chatting with a nurse, "Sorry I'm, you know, alone. I tried…."

"It's okay," I say and look down at the floor for a second, "So how are things back at Degrassi?"

"Boring, actually. All I do is talk to Liberty. With you and Emma gone there isn't much to do. Oh yeah, Emma--"

"I know. She's right over there."

We both look over in the direction I'm pointing, where Emma is still with Manny. Craig is leaving his beloved Manny to go see Ellie. Wow, never thought she'd let him even _look_ at Ellie. Maybe Manny developed a heart while I've been gone.

"Huh. I knew Emma went to rehab, but not with you. Ellie's here too. This place is just full of Degrassi today, isn't it?"

"Yup," I say, laughing a little, "Must be the first psycho ward on the list."

"So how is she doing?" Toby asks.

"Emma? I don't really know. It's only, what, her second day out of solitary confinement?" Toby gives me a look.

"Solitary confinement? You never told me about that. Sounds brutal."

"According to Ellie, she was in there for about five days, which is nothing. They keep all the nutcases for a lot longer. Ellie was in for two weeks; cause she doesn't like rules.."

"What about you?"

"It was a little more than a week. I don't remember it much. Pretty boring."

"I think it's suppose to be," Toby says and leans back on the couch, "How are you doing?"

"What version?" I ask, staring of into space. More yellow mirrors…"The doctor version or the J.T version?"

"Both, I guess…"

Stupid yellow mirrors.

"Well, the doctor version says I'm making 'wonderful progress' with lots of little smiley faces and exclamation points. I guess I'm alright, but it's so far away from actually being stable. I still don't know what to do."

Toby is silent. I'm a little worried he thinks I'm a insane now. That I'm dangerous to be around or something. But I'm not a murderer, just suicidal. Suicidal isn't contagious.

Yeah, that's a lot better, huh? Suicidal. I bet everybody in the world would be a lot happier if all the murderers jumped straight to the suicide instead of taking someone else down with them. I wonder if that's what they all think of us. What they tell their kids at night, "Oh, that's just the psycho ward, Bobby. A bunch of crazies who tried to kill themselves. But better them than us, hardy har har."

"You'll make it," he says, "I know you can."

"Thanks."

"J.T," a nurse calls, "Dr. Moon will see you now."

In case you haven't figured it out yet, Dr. Moon is the head honcho here. She runs the show. You don't get bumped up a level until you pass her inspection. Not that I'm ready to go up a level yet. It's different for everyone, but it's usually a while before they step it up, not counting solitary confinement. Ellie could boost a level if she tried, but she doesn't care much about trying. I wouldn't want to try either, if I was her.

Toby says he'll go see Emma and then head out. He's got homework. He won't be there when I get out. Grandma follows me into Dr. Moon's office. We sit in cushiony chairs and stare at paintings of trees and the ocean. Happy, happy, happy. But any psycho here can tell you that when you walk into that office, you're filled with dread.

Yeah, dread is about right. Fear, misery, the world is going to end. All that wonderful crap.

"Hello," Dr. Moon says, smiling, "Nice to see you again J.T, Mrs. Cooney."

Grandma replies with a hello and smiles back. I just sort of smirk.

"J.T has been doing fine. If he keeps going steady like this, he may become a Level Two. But there is something we need to talk about."

I look at the floor. I know what she wants. I know exactly what she wants. The question is: should I give it to her?

"J.T, I've already spoken to your grandmother about your parents. Why didn't you tell me about them?"

I make eye contact with her and smile.

"You never asked."

"This isn't funny," she says, "It's important. Now, I think we should talk about this--"

She continues on, but I'm not listening. I occupy myself with my sneakers. They're old and ratty, but I've got nothing else to wear. They're from the beginning of my junior year, before everything screwed up. But I guess things screwed up before then, right? Way before. When Dad left and then Mama--

"J.T?"

No, I don't want to remember. You can't make me. You can't. I don't want to deal with this anymore.

"J.T, are you alright?"

Stupid yellow mirrors.

"J.T? We need to talk about this."

Yellow, yellow, yellow. That stupid color never leaves me alone. Why can't it just go away?

"I hate the color yellow," I say, looking straight at Dr. Moon, "I hate it a lot."

"J.T, what's-" Grandma says, but Dr. Moon stops her. She knows this is a moment. A perfect moment to pry into all my secrets. But my brain is swimming right now; I don't care if she sees. I can't tell up from down anymore, I want to get away so bad. Only drugs can take me there. Unfortunately, there aren't any in sight.

Yellow, yellow, yellow.

"Why do you hate yellow?" she asks, her eyes burning holes into my head.

"Because the mirror was yellow. The only thing she left. And I killed it."

I know they won't understand this. I'm glad they won't. Grandma might figure it out, but who cares? I don't. I shut my mouth and go back into my own little world, thinking my crazy thoughts.

I wonder if this is how Ellie feels when she has to remember. It hurt so much it made her rush out of class and flip out. I could bolt out of this room right now too. I'd do anything to get away from my own head.

But that's the problem with all of us, isn't it? We all want to run away from ourselves, our past, our memories, but we can't. We can't because they're always there inside our heads, and we can't forget. That makes us all crazy. Crazy, crazy, crazy.

Stupid yellow mirrors.

- // -

_Hope this was okay. It's always really hard for me to write from JT's POV. _

_Review for this story NOT BEING DEAD! Yay. Happiness._


	7. Father Marco and Saint Craig

**Chapter 7: Father Marco and Saint Craig**

_**Ellie**_

Visiting day. I hate visiting day. You want to know why? Because for me, the _visiting_ gets scratched out and only the _day_ is left. So today is just "Day." It's no different than any other DAY for me. I have to sit in this room while all kinds of warm, loving people swarm around everyone else, leaving me out in the cold.

Emma's so lucky. She has everyone. She's got parents _and_ friends; she shouldn't even be messed up. As far as everyone knew at school, she was perfect. I guess that's what caused her downfall; everyone pressuring her to be perfect when she really wasn't. But she has so many _people_. It makes me ache inside.

J.T has his grandma. I even envy him. I envy everyone around me, because they've got someone who cares and I don't.

I know what you're going to say. I have Marco. Yeah, right. My best friend who is gay. I mean, sure, he's there, but he's not my parents. And wouldn't Dr. Moon say he's part of the problem? He can't help his sexual orientation, but he _did_ start the saga of "Ellie Nash Being Rejected by Guys, Part I."

And then Paige. Don't even get me started on Paige. Just because she helped me, what, _two years ago_, she thinks she's some angel and I'm the one she's meant to save. We're not even friends. She helped me that once; _that's it_.

Ashley is in England. She's probably emailed me tons, but I can't reply because there are no computers here. For we freaks, at least. I guess the doctors think I'd rip apart the PC and use the pointy little circuits to cut. I'm not that crazy.

We all know where this is going. I want parents. Yeah I know, I have some, but I want _real_ parents. The kind who are around, the kind who don't get drunk, the kind who don't throw you into the coffee table. I want a sober mom who is there for me twenty-four seven and I want a normal, non-army dad who works in an office or something, and doesn't leave for long amounts of time risking his life. I don't want to have to hurt all the time because they're gone.

I want to feel better.

I know. Ellie Nash, wanting to _recover_. It's a shocker, I tell you. But I do. I've never wanted to cut myself, never wanted to die, but I had to because of what my parents put me through (or what I put myself through, but lets not get into details). There was nothing else I could do. It was the only way out. I've always wanted to get better, to be better. A better person. I just can't. Not until I get some support, encouragement. And I don't mean from any of my stupid friends.

I'm still stuck in "the tunnel," as J.T calls it. Stuck between suicide land and choices; getting better. I don't know which to choose. Relapse or recovery? Forward or back? Rewind or fast forward? Stop or play? Right now I'm on pause. I think. Whatever.

I snap the rubber band on my wrist rapidly. No one is coming. No one ever does. My mom checked me in and took a hike. Daddy called from Kabul when I was still in solitary confinement. He didn't say much. Being shot at does that to you.

Mom is probably too drunk to come. If she is drunk, I'm glad she isn't showing up. Marco will come (he always does), but he doesn't count. I know I'd almost like to talk to Craig; he's the easiest person to open up to since we went to Group together. But Manny hates me with an undying passion, whether I'm a suicide freak or not. She was probably happy when she found out about my little "episode."

Today means _nothing_ to me. It's so boring, I might as well go hide in my room or the bathroom, give myself a little release. Make all the pain they give me inside appear on the outside too. I could, I should, I have before. I might as well. But I can't get away. I better stop thinking about it, or the need will become uncontrollable.

But what else is there to think about?

It's not like I've ever had much to occupy myself with. The only thing to think about is memories, and I don't want to go there. I've got no life. Everyone else in this stupid room has someone to talk to except me. Just goes to show how popular I am. How _wonderful_ and _loveable_ I am.

"Hey, Ellie."

I look up and see Craig Manning in the flesh. Surprising. What made Manny suddenly feel bad for me? Does she have amnesia? Wouldn't that be fun?

"She actually let you over here?"

"She told me to come over, actually. She said you could use a friend."

That's sad; he has to wait for Princess Manny's permission to come play nice with the psychos. Didn't know Craig was such a softie.

"Oh," I mumble and look away.

"So how've you been?"

"Sucky. This place is hell, Craig. Worse than hell."

"Emma said that too. Just not in so many words."

"Doesn't surprise me. She's not a princess anymore. Must take some getting used to," I say this with venom in my voice. No one can know I'm starting to get kind of used to Blondie.

"Jeez, El. Way to be harsh."

"I'm not being harsh. I just don't get her. I respect her and everything, but I don't get it."

"I don't think anyone really does…"

"Like you don't get me, right?"

"Of course I get you, El. I always have."

"No you don't, Craig. You never will."

"Aw, don't be like that Ellie. I--"

"No! Why don't you just leave me alone?! You know, its kind of asshole of you to lead me on and play nice, just to walk away again! 'Ooh, just kidding El!'"

"Why do you have to be such a… such a--" he's getting angry. I don't want him to be angry with me. I don't want to hurt him. Damn. If I make him angry at me, I'll feel like shit all over again. And then I'll need my crappy safety pin. _Again_.

"What? Such a crazy bitch? Sorry Craig, but I guess that's who I am now. A depressed, suicidal, crazy bitch."

We're silent after that, besides the snapping of my rubber band. It hangs between us like a thick, velvet curtain. Emma yells about something and people turn to look at her, but she's quiet again seeing her mistake. I smirk a little. Just like her, to slip up like that. Of course with the hunger mood swings, I guess she can't help it.

"I'm gonna play at the Northern Sound Showcase," Craig says, changing the subject. He's cooling off. I hope.

"That's great!" I reply, smiling a little. But not to much. Me, I don't smile. I don't really remember how, or why I ever would. It's a waste of time.

"Yeah. The whole band could of, but we… don't have a drummer anymore."

"You don't need a drummer, Craig," I probably can't ever pick up drumsticks again. I wouldn't know what to do. I feel like everything outside of this place would be too complicated. No matter how much I want to get out of here, the thought of actually going outside gives me chills, "Your drummer is a psycho with bleeding wrists."

"Ellie, don't say that," Craig tells me, and then stares, "Are you still cutting?"

"No."

The answer comes so quick, it's kind of obvious. Even I know that.

"I know when you're lying, El."

"No you don't, Craig. You don't know anything about me!"

Didn't we already establish this? Oh well. He's always been a little slow.

I try not to raise my voice. If I start yelling, the nurses will attack me. I might be given more dumb pills. They might lock me up. They've even _sedated_ people before. I can't live like that. Hell, I can't even live now.

Craig just looks at me. I see in his eyes how sad I make him. How sad it is that he doesn't understand me anymore. He just can't. I know he wants to; I know he wants to help. Craig always wants to help me. He just manages to screw it up pretty awesomely. And now I see what it does to him, what _I_ do to him.

I make him sad. I make a lot of people sad, I guess. But why does making _him_ sad make me feel like I deserve to burn in hell? More than usual, anyway.

"I guess so. Not anymore. Bye, Ellie."

He walks away. Back to Princess Manny. Back to anorexic Emma. And who do I get? Marco Del Rossi. My best friend, and yet so annoying right now.

"Hey El," he says and hugs me. I don't hug back. He sits down in a squishy chair next to mine, "Sorry I'm late, but traffic, you know?"

"It's okay," I say and look down at the floor.

"Why was Craig over here?"

"Just talking."

"Do you think that's a good idea? With you being here, won't Craig just hurt you?"

"I don't know…" I say and bite my lip. Why does _anyone_ talk to me? I'm sure Marco could find a way everyone hurts me, intentionally or not. Then again, I suppose I do that everyday, just to find yet another way to beat myself up, "I guess I'm okay…"

"Okay."

I sit in silence while Marco talks on and on about school and Dylan and Paige and Jimmy. I nod my head at appropriate times. Sometimes I even give a yes or no. He says Paige wants to visit, but wanted to make sure it was okay first. Jimmy too. I guess they all think that if I see them when I don't want to, I'll fly off the handle and try to die again.

They might be right, but I don't know. Have to experience it. Wouldn't that be fun? Anybody know how to kill yourself with a safety pin? No? Didn't think so… Maybe I could discover a way to kill yourself with a safety pin, a paper clip, a felt tip pen. I could sell the idea to millions of psychos looking to do themselves in without being noticed. I could get rich. Someone could use the money to buy me a fancy tombstone.

Jeez, when did I get so freaking morbid?

"They can come if they want to," I tell Marco. I almost want to ask him to check on my mom, to call or something, but I guess I could do that myself. I don't want to put him in that situation, either, "Just prepare them."

"Prepare them for what?"

"For me."

I know people need to be prepared. The look of surprise or anger or sadness I see on so many faces when they come here and look at their kid or their best friend. And then their face gets stuck like that the whole visit and it makes you feel like shit. Trust me, I know. Been there plenty of times.

"Okay."

"Ellie, Dr. Moon will see you now," A nurse says. I get up. Marco gets up too and hugs me again.

"Bye, El," he whispers, "See you next time."

"Bye," I say and give him a weak smile because I know I should. Then I'm herded to Dr. Moon's office. J.T just came out, and gives me a reassuring smile, but I can see in his eyes that his session didn't go well. No one's session ever seems to go well.

I walk into the room and the door is shut behind me. I sit in a cushiony leather chair, one I've sat in many times. I've counted all the lines on this room's wallpaper, memorized all the nicks in the paint on Dr. Moon's desk. I've stared at my boots for hours contrasting against the bright blue rug. It makes me sick. This place is a torture chamber.

"Hello Ellie," Dr. Moon says, smiling. I don't smile back, "Are you having a nice day?"

"I guess."

"Who came to visit you today?"

"My friend Marco. And my friend Craig came with his girlfriend, Manny, to visit Emma Nelson, so he talked to me for a little while."

"Is there a reason your mother isn't here?"

Yeah, she doesn't waste any time. Like I'll ever tell Dr. Moon anything. She asks almost every Visiting Day. My mom is drunk, of course. Or dead. Or she just forgot. Because she's drunk. Passed out. Throwing up. Could be anything. But none of this is going to come out of my mouth. No way.

"She probably just forgot," I say. It's possible. Not a lie, not the truth. Possible, but not definite. See how easy this stuff is?

"Ellie, Olivia gave me the poem that you wrote. I'd like to talk about it."

Olivia, the traitor. Why'd I even write that stupid poem? Damnit!

"The poem? It was nothing…"

"It was something, Ellie," she leans over her desk, picking the paper up, "A fine piece of work. There are many things it says to me. I'd like to know what it says to you."

I'm silent except for the snapping of my rubber band. Dr. Moon stares at me intently. The clock ticks in the background.

"Ellie? Is your mother not here because she is drunk?"

Don't say anything, Ellie. Don't give her satisfaction. Don't give her any ground! But don't I want this to get better? Didn't I just confess that? This could be my chance. It could be the push I need… to make myself try a little more.

"Maybe," I say quietly, and breathe deeply. Dr. Moon keeps staring at me, "Well… probably."

"How long has she been drinking, Ellie?"

Great, she wants more. I don't know if I can give it. But just saying those few words… it makes me feel better. Like I can actually do this… sort of.

"Since my dad went back to the Middle East… she always does when he leaves. The first time was when I was eight."

"Did your mother ever hit you?"

Did she? Well yes, but she didn't know what she was doing. She was drunk. I don't think she really meant it. Sometimes it's hard to understand if she really loves me or not. She doesn't act like it; only when she's faking. If she ever has loved me, I can't remember it. But deep down she's my mother. That's why I always feel like I have to take care of her. Even if my patience has grown thin a few times, and it will again, I can't really let go of her. She's my mom, even if she's the most rotten mom in the world.

"She didn't know what she was doing…" I say and bite my lip, "I don't think she meant it."

"She probably didn't. But it still hurt, right?"

I nod. How does Dr. Moon read my mind? It's kind of creepy…

"Okay. I think that's enough for today. This was very successful. I'm glad you talked to me. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

I nod and start to leave. She loves the word "successful." And "progress." Ugh. Success my ass. Her "success" makes me feel like jumping off a bridge.

"Oh, and Ellie? Congratulations. You made Level Two."

I nod again and walk out the door. Level Two, wow. I'm just a regular goody goody, aren't I?

I feel better about talking to Dr. Moon about my mom. A little better. Not a whole bunch. I feel okay about it, but I still want my safety pin. I want blood and pain. I want tears.

That's why I go back to my room instead of telling J.T the good news. I don't think I could handle his smile right now. And I couldn't handle myself, wishing so hard that I could smile back.


	8. Voices

_Happy New Year! Might be a few mistakes in this... I'm too lazy to edit the whole thing... got a new laptop, and pressing random buttons seems to change the page on me without warning. So it might be bad. Wrote this over a year ago. :) enjoy!_

- // -

**Chapter 8: Voices**

_**Emma**_

After a while, the boredom sets in. Honestly, I can't take a step without wanting to explode. That, and they're feeding me. Ugh. Don't they understand I don't eat like they do?

Nevermind.

The days became long quickly, even with Ellie's antics and socializing with J.T to pass the time. It's not like the outside world at all, and I'm beginnging to get annoyed. I just try to stay sane by imagining all of the things I'll be able to do when I get out. Or rather, all the things I won't do.

No one will make me eat, that's for sure. I won't let them.

The fantasies make my head spin. Skin stretched over bone. And clear sky full of cotton candy clouds. I'll be so light (lite?), I can fly. Even gravity won't hold me. Air will pass through me. A perfect being. Invincible.

All the things I'll never have. Right now I just have eyes staring at me. Judging eyes, hurtful eyes. Staring at the "anorexic girl."

I'll always be the _anorexic girl_ if I ever get out of here, if I get though this. It seems like everyone knows just by looking at me. They all just _know_, and I always feel eyes burning a hole in my back. Maybe I'm paranoid because I never have anything in my stomach. Maybe it's just because I'm hungry.

I don't care if I'm hungry. Being thin, being beautiful is more important than hunger.

No one knows what it's like. To look in the mirror every day and to hate myself. To just see this ugly thing that I want to destroy. To just want to be pretty. To be skinny. I know how ugly I am, I just wonder why everyone has to taunt me so. They look at me and… ugh! I can feel the disgust rising up in their throats. I know, because I'm disgusted with myself. All the time.

I want to be pretty so bad. I want to be skinny. I want to feel loved.

Loved. The word burns my tongue to say it, because I don't have love. I want people to love me. I want to feel something other than bitter hate. I want… I want so many things I almost can't grasp the thoughts I want to keep, and the ones I want to cast away.

Honestly I think every girl thinks about being fat. If they are fat. They think about losing weight. Because that's just what girls do, we think about that stuff a lot. But other girls talk about it with their friends, or look up online to see if they really are fat or if they're just kidding themselves. They see that they _aren't_ big old beached whales, and then it's left alone. But me, I didn't do that. I was so intent on being fat that I just had to do something. I needed control. And that was the closest thing. Food.

But I _am_ fat. I used to not believe that, but now I do. I'm so freaking huge. I jumped on the scale the other day, and I've reached ninety-eight pounds. Other people may see that as bad. A girl my age should weigh somewhere around one hundred and ten _at least_. No lower than that, or so I've heard. But I think it's wonderful. The skinnier the better. And the best part is, these nurses here don't even care about my weight. They just care about my suicide attempt. Anorexia means nothing to them.

But how much longer can this go on, can I play this game? What if someone tries to stop me? I swear I'll kill them if they do. I won't kill myself this time. I'll go for them. Because it's their fault, really. Some of it is my fault and some of it is theirs.

At first when I stopped eating, it didn't happen all together. My appetite just became smaller. I started eating less and less. I took smaller portions at meals. When no one was home to remind me, I'd just forget to eat except for a few crackers, a carrot stick or two. It just shrunk down to nothing, my appetite. That made starving myself all the easier.

Soon the voice in my head came back, whispering insults and truthful lies into my ear. _You're fat, ugly , gross. Everyone who lays eyes on you wants to throw up. No one loves you. They only love skinny people. Not you. Never you._

I believe that little voice. I don't know why I do. Maybe simply because it's telling the truth. It has to be telling the truth. If it's not… well, then life just wouldn't make any sense. Everything would go crazy.

People keep telling me it's already crazy, but it's not. I have control. I have control over this "disorder." I always have. No one ever should've tried to stop me. To everyone else it may look like chaos, but to me it's all under control. I know exactly what I'm doing. It's not like I don't want this. I do. That's control enough, right?

Right?

"Hey Emma," Manny says, standing next to me. Craig is with her. Can she really not go anywhere without him? It's not like she has any competition anymore. Ellie is locked up here with me, "How are you doing?"

"Horrible," I say and stare at the floor. She should be happy that I'm even speaking to her. I shouldn't talk to her, but I will since I'm so nice.

"I heard that you're roommates with Ellie."

"Yeah. She's pretty cool, actually," I know that me saying anything positive about Ellie will piss Manny off. But she just stands there, not saying a word.

"Craig, just go," I glance up. I guess Craig kept looking at Ellie before. Good for him. Maybe _he_ can cheer her up. Ellie almost seems worse off than me, but I can't be sure. We don't exactly talk much. About important stuff, anyway.

"But Manny, you don't-"

"It doesn't matter what I feel anymore. Ellie needs a friend who understands what's going on up inside her head. That's you. Without you, she's got no one."

"Okay, thanks…"

Craig walks away and I want to laugh. Like anyone could understand what's going on inside her head. Inside of any of our heads. Especially Ellie's. She lets blood drip from her arms any chance that she gets. I don't know why, but she does. I walk in the room the other day and she's stuffing that stupid safety pin under her mattress, yanking up her arm warmers and smiling her fake little porcelain doll smile. I wish it was that easy for me. Maybe it is. Maybe she's onto something. Maybe I'll try slicing up my wrists, but I don't think I'm that brave.

Speaking of blood, I haven't had my period in weeks, so it must mean that I'm getting closer to my goal. I read on a website that when you don't eat, women lose their periods. Then I skipped all this boring stuff about where the extra blood goes, blah, blah, blah. _Please_. The last time I had my period, it lasted for a day and a half. The blood flow was so light I didn't even bother to use a tampon or pad. So losing it is no big deal. Who wants the cramps, bloating, and cravings anyway?

Manny sits down next to me on the couch. She crosses her legs, her fingers drumming on her knee. She watches me bent forward, my arms crossed, staring at the floor. I can feel her eyes burning me. Feel them seeing my every flaw. Seeing how fat I am. How ugly and gross I am.

"So, Em… how's Ellie?"

"Fine."

"Does she help you hide your food? Or do you just stuff it all in your pockets?"

"You've got no right to say anything. It's my choice."

"And I'm worried about your choices lately," she says, her voice becoming softer, "Emma, are you still not eating, even _here_?"

I think about lying to her. I want to. She can't be suspicious. If I don't lie, she'll suspect things. She'll try to make me stop. But something completely different comes out of my mouth.

"You should mind your own business."

_Don't bother to lie. Lies can help us, but not now. Now we need to fight fire with fire. Push her away. Do it._

That little voice inside my head thinks that if I put her in her place, she'll stay there. I don't think so, but why not give it a shot?

"Emma! This is serious! Don't you remember what happened last time?!"

"I don't care. This is the only thing that matters right now."

"So you really want this? You want to look sick all the time?!"

"I'm not sick," I say, "I'm skinny."

_And skinny is beautiful, _She laughs. I believe it.

"Yeah, skinny. And it makes you look disgusting! It's not healthy!"

See? She just said it. That I'm disgusting. Everyone thinks so. It's the truth.

_Well of course it's the truth, stupid. I keep telling you that. God, you're slow._

"I'm not disgusting because I'm skinny. I'm disgusting because I'm not skinny _enough_," As if telling her this will drive the understanding into her thick skull. Her eyes grow wider with shock and she clenches her fists.

"Spoken like a true anorexic," she says slowly, and shakes her head, "Emma, if you don't stop this right now, I'll tell the doctors about you. I'll make them start watching."

She's trying to stop me. She's trying to stop my diet. _Again_. My temper flares.

_Shut her up! That little slut is messing up our plan! Our life! Get her! Rip her to shreds, whatever it takes!_

"You just don't get it!" I shout, going into full freak out mode. People turn and stare. I can just see nurses getting ready to pounce. I lower my voice and lean in, "I want this! Just stop trying to ruin my life! This is what I have to do! And I'm going to do whatever it takes to reach perfection!"

"Yeah, because you think that you can be the first person ever to be perfect?!" Manny asks, bitter words flying, "Hate to break it to you, but nobody's perfect!"

_Don't speak with her. She is a lost cause. She could never handle it before, could she? Dieting with you, running with you. She ate pizza! Pizza! The nerve… She's too weak. Don't bother. Leave her behind. She'll just slow you down._

I stay silent.

"You know what? Fine! Just… die for all I care! Because I'm done, okay?! I'm done taking care of you and watching out for your stupid signs and worrying!"

She slides away from me, looking the other way. I look back down at the floor. Craig comes back to us just as my parents are coming in. Manny tells Craig they're leaving and storms out. Craig looks apologetically at me, but doesn't say anything. He just walks away.

She doesn't care what I do anymore? Good. I don't need her.

I don't need anyone.

My parents come, hugging and talking about stupid things. They don't know what to say. It's like they're… afraid of me. Yes, afraid.

Afraid? I like this power. I enjoy scaring them. They deserve to be frightened. They tried to stop me.

_People who try to stop us deserve to be punished._

So true.

They talk, I answer. It's like playing a simple game. A game for five year olds. Lets see how I can fool them today. Lets see how well I can lie. Lets just see. It's so easy it almost doesn't matter. The meaning is almost lost. Almost, not quite. Because if I wasn't a good liar, it would all crash and burn. With _me_ in the middle.

I see how they look at me. They're not only afraid… but also sad. So sad. And I remember something Dr. Moon asked me the other day in therapy.

She asked me if I ever thought about what I did and how it hurt the people around me. How it pained them to watch me go through pain. If I ever noticed that people loved me.

I laughed on the inside and kept silent on the out. What does she know about my life? People love me? Me, of all people? She has to be on crack. But no, there are kids here on crack and they're much saner than Dr. Moon. It must just be because she's a therapist. Mental note: Never seek job in therapist area. Everyone will _freaking hate you._

She doesn't really have a right to tell me what I'm feeling or thinking. Or the way that I _should_ be feeling and thinking. She can't tell me anything I'll believe, because she's simply wrong. She always will be. Because she's never been me, not for one moment. The only person I can trust is me and my voice.

_Of course I'll never lie to you. Promise. We're in this together, after all. Not like Manny. She backed out when it got too tough. Not like Peter. He ratted us out after it got too scary for him. I'll always give you what you want._

The voice is my only true friend anymore. She gives me words of comfort when I'm feeling down, words of praise when I see a little bone sticking out of skin or when another pound drops off. She tells me what to say when I can't think of the right words; she helps me make my choices. She smacks my hand away when I reach for food and reminds me of our goal. She makes me feel better. Makes me feel like I'm not hurting everyone when I stick my finger down my throat after a meal, because it feels like my fingers are hers. If she is me and I am her, it doesn't matter what we do. We can do anything we want because no one loves us. She gives me the power.

She looks just like me, talks like me. She wears all my clothes, has the same lying little face. She steals my identity, just takes it and I don't say a word. Somehow, we morphed into one person. I gaze in the mirror and I'm not sure if it's me blinking in the reflection or her. Is it me wearing the baggy sweatshirt, chipped pink nail polish, knotted hair? Or is She staring back at me and not really me myself? Has She really taken me over? Become me?

_We are one. Don't you ever forget that. You'll try to defy me one day; they all do. But then you'll come crawling back, tail between your legs. I go when you go._

She likes to scream at me when I'm wrong, drive her wisdom into my skull with razor sharp teeth. She is the shadow following my footsteps, that song you hate but know all the lyrics to. She's the girl at school you envy; the skinniest girl you've ever seen, always beautiful. Straight As, sports champion, role model for human beings everywhere. She's got everything you want but can't have.

Sometimes She's a tiger, attacking me with everything She's got and ripping me to shreds. Other times She might as well be a kitten. Soft, sweet, warm and cuddly. Sometimes She dances around the room to her MP3 player, does cartwheels through the hallways and jumps off rooftops, pretending She can fly. She sits in my lap playing with my hair and makes me give her piggybacks all day until She gets bored. She pushes me into the bathroom and beats me until I'm on my knees, throwing up into the toilet. She's the only person I know who can laugh and seem scary about it, push my buttons so hard it's like I'm her puppet. She knows every inch of my soul like a map of Canada, and if She tells me to jump I'll say "how high". She knows She has power, and she loves it. She'll never stop.

"Good morning Emma, Mr. And Mrs. Simpson," Dr. Moon says as we enter her office. We all sit down in chairs, me in the middle. I stare at the bright blue floor, at my stupid shoes. Then She appears behind me, placing an invisible hand on my shoulder.

"This is our first session together, so let's just start with the basics. Now, are you two home often? Is Emma left alone for periods of time?"

"We're always there. But recently we were going though a… rough patch. I relied on Emma to get a lot of things done."

She pats my shoulder reassuringly. Then She bends down, her mouth near my ear.

"Emma? Was there a lot of pressure to keep the house in order and look after everyone?" Dr. Moon leans forward in her chair, over her desk, staring at me.

She whispers, her breath chilling on my neck:

_Don't tell them the truth. If you do, it'll all be over._

"No. I was fine with it."

Dr. Moon looks at me and scribbles something on her clipboard. I wonder what she's writing. "Compulsive liar", maybe?

_Good girl._

I smirk a little. Do I get a treat now for obeying? Please, it better not be Prozac. I get enough of that stuff already. Maybe the doctors here are just trying to get us addicted to antidepressant medication instead of drugs or whatever. Then we'd all be happy zombies all the time. Yeah, that's sure to convince people we're cured.

"So you never felt like you couldn't master it? Not once?"

"No."

More scribbling with her stupid pen.

"I understand that before she was admitted here, Emma had been diagnosed with anorexia nervosa?"

"Yes."

"Emma?" she talks to me like I'm a child, like I don't understand anything that's going on. But I do. I'll understand more than she ever will, "Are you still anorexic?"

_That's such a filthy word. Disgusting. Don't you dare tell them anything._

I won't.

"No," I say lightly, "I'm cured. All better."

"It's common for people with eating disorders to also be suicidal because of the isolation they feel. We can treat you for both, if necessary."

"I'm fine now," There-is-nothing-wrong-with-me. Shut-up. You-don't-know-me-so-just-shut-up.

_Stay calm. Don't fight. They'll ruin us._

I know.

_They don't care. They want us to fail. They don't want us to be loved._

I know. Stop it. Please.

_Just don't listen to them._

O-kay.

Sometimes, She can get annoying. Tries too hard to get the point across. Makes me want to strangle her. I understand what She means. She doesn't need to shove the same information down my throat. Like the rest of them.

Dr. Moon continues talking. I stare at the flower painting behind her desk. She speaks to me like I'm mentally challenged or something. I'm not stupid, just crazy. They call me crazy. They all think I'm crazy, think _we're_ crazy. But I don't believe that.

Is it really so crazy to try to make life feel meaningful? To try to give yourself a purpose? It really sucks wandering though life with no purpose. I know, I've waltzed off the path a time or two. Why does it make me crazy that I try to make myself sane? Just because I'm different, because I live a different way of life, people think they need to hunt me down and inject me with their thoughts and feelings, turn me into some kind of robot. They all want to see me fail, watch me drown in the water and then laugh about it.

They're all out to get me. I discovered that a long time ago. When I wanted control in my life and food seemed to be the easiest thing. I wanted to be pretty and they all tried to stop me. Every single person. Even people I don't know will stare at me in the street. Me, with my messy hair, bony figure, baggy sweatshirt, an invisible girl tagging along behind. They all hate me, drive me backwards towards insanity. So I fight back, push forward to reach my goal. She pushes with me, and when I get tired of pushing, She screams at me until She's blue in the face and I start to push again.

Dr. Moon's looking at me. She probably asked a question that I'm suppose to answer. She's looking at me with those cold eyes, eyes that want to strip me down and see into my head, see what makes me tick and feed off it. Eyes that try to seduce me, to make me trust her only so she can backstab me in the end. She just doesn't understand anything. Doesn't understand anything at all.

I know so much more than her. She's been to school, has a degree, sure, whatever. It's a stupid piece of paper. I'm smarter. I bet she can't calculate the calories in most food in a matter of seconds. Can her fancy piece of paper show her how to figure out how to burn off said calories with _x_ amount of jogging? I don't think so. Does she know how to lie? Keep a pretty smile, say you're not hungry, eat as little as possible, and then make way for the nearest toilet? Does she know how to stick her fingers down her throat and make no noise when the food comes back up? Can she step on a scale, read the numbers, and feel good or bad? Think days, weeks ahead, what she'll have to do to drop the weight more?

Most of all, does she ever stand in front of her mirror, naked, examining every flaw in her pitiful body? Pinch the fat around her stomach, her thighs, butt, and start calculating about how she can burn off it all? Does she know what it feels like, to have your twin, your sister almost, standing next to you and whispering with her cold voice about how ugly you are? How you're so fat and no one loves you?

I don't think she does. I've felt all those things, done all those things, and I'm proud of it. Proud that I can lift my shirt up and see a hard, flat, stomach, skin stretched over bone. That I need belts with many holes to hold my pants up, that soon I'll fit into a size zero. That I am the master, the master of myself and my body.

_Our body is a reflection of us, our being. By being skinny, we are showing people that we are the best. We are loved. Who loves fat people? No one loves fat lards like you. We must show them that we are powerful, that we are able._

"Emma? Did you hear me?"

"Sorry. What?"

"I'll see you tomorrow after lunch."

"Okay."

I get up out of the chair and follow my parents out the door. We say our goodbyes, or _they_say goodbye, and then they walk out the door into the real world. They're actually breathing fresh air, walking on real dirt and grass instead of hard tile. They can feel the sunlight on their skin while I'm stuck with Florissant lighting that makes even the darkest pigment look pale. They can go eat food, while I get to mush around poison that makes Degrassi's cafeteria look appealing.

_It's not like you need the food anyway. If there was no more food, you'd be the last person on Earth to die because you're so fat._

I escort myself back to my room where Ellie is laying on her bed, arm pressed against her side, her other hand playing with her hair. She looks worn out, like she just ran a mile. Her eyes are distant. Inside her head she's probably somewhere far away.

"Hey," I say quietly and dig out a book that my mom packed for me. I read it a while ago, but I suppose I'll just have to read it again. If I remember correctly, it wasn't very interesting.

She doesn't answer, so I open up to the dog eared first page and try to make my eyes focus. But I keep thinking about the outside world, how much easier it was there. How easy it was when no one knew about me. I was just another face. Not anymore. Now I'm a walking math problem. They need to figure me out or they fail. Distribute, combine like terms, solve for _x_.

"Emma?"

Ellie's turned on her side, facing me, her arm tucked behind her back. I put the book down and turn to face her.

"What?"

"Can you do me a favor?"

What could Ellie possibly need from me? It's not like we're friends. We're roommates. But I guess even roomies help each other out sometimes.

"Depends," I say, putting on her tough girl act. It feels funny to act like Ellie.

"Can you go in the hallway and watch out for nurses? I need to do something."

I stare at her. What, she doesn't want me to watch her cut herself? Maybe I want to take notes. Ha. Maybe she already cut herself and now she needs to fix it up. Or cut again, I dunno. Whatever it is, it's not like I have anything better to do. So why not?

"Sure."

I walk out into the hallway, shutting the door behind me. I hang out around the door, but not too close. No one says anything to me. I can see this girl, I think her name's Bryanah, sitting on her bed listening to music. Her roommate is swallowing some medication. It can't be Prozac, so maybe she's bipolar or something. Or maybe she stashed some drugs.

_Foolish, that is. Getting high so they can stumble around like idiots. Yet people still love them. Why not you?_

"Emma? You have a phone call," one of the nurses says, coming up to me. She leads me over to the phone, her oversize Goofy shirt flapping behind her. As if I can't find it myself. Her white nurses shoes squeak when she walks. I'm silent. She hands me the phone and I take it, feeling the stickiness of disinfectant and spit.

"Hello?"

"Hi Em," It's Manny Santos, life ruiner and cheapo extraordinaire.

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to apologize. About what I said. I don't want you to die. I didn't mean it."

I can hear her voice breaking up on the other end; she's starting to cry. But I don't care. My anger doesn't fade. She tried to stop me. She tried to put me down, and that's all that matters anymore. From now on, Manny is a traitor.

"Okay. Apology accepted."

"Emma. Just please… promise me that you'll try to get better."

_Get better? We're not sick. What's she talking about?_

"I can't promise anything right now, Manny."

"Em, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that… you've got no idea what my life is about anymore. And you just can't."

"Emma…"

I bite my lip, waiting for her to stop it. She begins rattling on about something, something I can't concentrate on. I watch the nurses laugh at their post, talking about some joke they heard. I want Manny to stop crying, but I don't have the heart right now to yell at her.

_Shut her up. Just hang up the phone already! I'm sick of her blubbering!_

And now she's really at it, sobbing so hard it sounds like she's not breathing enough. I can barely make out the words she's trying to speak. They come out in a bunch of gibberish, sobs, gasps for air.

_Tell her to put a sock in it and to try running a few miles. She's looking shockingly… round. _

She got her agent. She's not dieting anymore, remember?

_Yet she's still prettier than you._

"Emma… you can't do this to me. To everyone who cares about you."

_Bullshit. No one cares about you._

"Manny… I need to go," I say, and I hang up the phone, pressing it onto the hook so hard my knuckles turn white. I turn around and walk back to my room. Ellie should be done by now, whatever she's doing.

_Having a crappy day, are we?_

Yeah, you could say that.

_I like crappy days. Makes the cause seem more worthwhile._

What do you mean?

_No one loves you. And now you understand that better. With this crappy, fuck fest of a day._


	9. Interrogation Banter

_So it's been quite a while, but here's another chapter. I didn't get many reviews for the last one, so I don't know if anyone even cares anymore, but whatever. Enjoy._

**Chapter 9: Interrogation Banter**

_**J.T**_

There's a bright light at the end of the tunnel; a light I can never seem to reach. My legs can't move fast enough, and the light keeps shrinking and shrinking until it's so dark, I can't see my hand two inches from my face. So I go ahead and pop a few pills. Then I can soar; fly up so high that it's pure white and the air is so thin, breathing becomes a struggle. It's a great feeling, riding that high, having the feeling of invincibility, power. The drop back down sucks. But that's the way it works, right?

Drugs simply became a part of me, like cutting for Ellie or food for Emma. It's a way of life. Really, it takes _over _your life. Suddenly, it's all about drug dealers, cash, how to get your hands on it. School, family, friends… they don't matter anymore. It's just all drugs all the time.

I don't remember doing one good thing since I started my junior year. I got my girlfriend pregnant, stole drugs for money, got hooked on said drugs, wound up trying to kill myself, and now I'm living here at Sunny Brook. There's never any sun, just artificial light, and as far as I know, there's no brook or stream or river or any of that. Just a bunch of lies and Prozac and psychos. Even the doctors here aren't so sane, it seems. A lot of the male staff members like to take advantage of the lonely, crazy little girls. I look the other way. I mean, it's not like they don't want it. They beg for it. And the ones who'd rather not steer clear.

But enough about that. Dr. Moon is pretty excited that I opened up the other day. She thinks it's this terrific chance or whatever. I, on the other hand, don't have as much enthusiasm. As I've said before, I want to get better, but does opening up to a stranger who your instincts tell you is your enemy seem fun to you? No. And if it does, please, go get your head examined. Or maybe you're just as crazy as me. If so, join the club. Take my place. I'd rather be anywhere but here.

I really feel like skipping therapy today. With all this talk about my parents and Level Two, I've dropped back down the ladder into my little hole. My brain keeps searching for that high, something to boost me back up. But there's nothing to get high off of in this place. Everything is locked up or out of reach. It makes me feel like overdosing again. And again and again.

And again.

.

_I stood there, with the drugs clutched in my palm. The world was just sucky. Everything was messed up, so messed up it didn't seem like it would ever be straightened out again. And here I was, standing in the middle of the Ravine. The perfect place to be, right? Drugs, drinking, and bracelets galore!_

_**Come on, man. It'll be okay, **__Jay said. He was so easygoing, so cool. He had nothing to worry about. Just not one fucking thing. How could he breeze through life so easily when it was so hard for me to make any sense about this?_

_"Okay?!" I shouted at him, "I lost my girl, I lost my best friend, my job, my family… and now I'm probably gonna go to jail."_

_He just stared at me for a minute. Maybe he was confused about how I could be so depressing. Or maybe he was just an idiot, I don't know. It was Jay, after all. Who really knows what's going on inside his head?_

_**Hey, bummer times. At least there's a party.**_

_Then he put on his sunglasses and walked away, smirking the whole time._

_I glared at the back of his head, and then I did the only thing I knew how to do. I swallowed all those pills, one by one. I waited for the little capsules to shut down my brain. But instead, I got high, just like any other time. I figured killing myself would be different, but it wasn't. I laughed. I got made fun of. I dumped beer on my head. And then, my eyes rolled into the back of my skull and I was out. The best part was, I didn't even care anymore. At least there was a party, right?_

_It was so dark. Dark and loud. I heard big, weird noises. I could hear sirens and people screaming and laughing, cars speeding away into the night. My ears were ringing after only ten seconds. But it felt good to finally be at rest with myself. No more problems, because I was dead. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, nothing ever would again. I didn't have to go to jail, I didn't have to be a dad. I didn't have to be anything._

_Then, suddenly, there was all this stupid white light. I groaned. Someone really needed to shut those off. Give me back to the darkness, please. I could hear all kinds of stupid hospital sounds, and I knew I'd failed. I knew that I had to deal with life again. I was such an idiot. A total and complete idiot. A failure. I didn't deserve to live if I failed. I didn't deserve Mama and Daddy to come back, either. I didn't deserve Toby or Liberty or Grandma. I was just one big, fucking screw up._

_Amen._

_._

That night was the best, worst, scariest, most terrific night in my life. It was the last time drugs ever touched my system, and it was the first time I visited the dark place and wanted to stay there forever. No matter what was happening, I wanted to stay in the black. It was better than having to deal with everyone. Escape always is better than facing your fears. Or, at least it _feels_ that way.

I slowly make my way to Dr. Moon's office. The hallways feel like they're miles long, and my feet seem to have weights attached to them. There's honestly no point in doing this. But I know that if I don't go, nothing will get better. I'll most likely be hunted down and punished for skipping therapy. Solitary confinement isn't exactly my cup of tea. I'd rather obey the rules, thank you very much. I'm a good dog.

I sit down in a chair in front of Dr. Moon's office door. Someone's session has run long, apparently. I can hear Dr. Moon talking softly though the door. The walls are suppose to be soundproof or something, but you can still hear. The carpenters who build this place weren't exactly geniuses. The walls are all so thin, I bet I could punch through them without damaging my hand. There's never any hot water, or heat for that matter, and the doors don't shut properly. This could be a trick Sunny Brook created, but it's a little cruel. I honestly don't want to be peeked in on while I'm trying to get dressed. It's slightly annoying.

The door opens, and some kid with spiked orange hair walks out, his hands stuffed into his pockets. Dr. Moon pokes her head out, smiling that stupid smile that makes me want to strangle someone.

"Ready when you are, J.T."

I should mention that I'll never be ready, but it wouldn't do anything. I stand up and walk into the small room with the bright blue carpet and striped wallpaper. I opt for the couch this time instead of the chair. You never know. Maybe she'll let me take a nap. I've never actually heard about anyone getting to sleep through therapy, but maybe I'll be the first.

I sit down and Dr. Moon sits across from me, crossing her legs, her notepad ready. I think how much paper this place wastes writing down our thoughts. They must've been great note takers in college. Unless they all just draw pictures, like in the movies. That would be a complete waste of money. Maybe they're all liars and freak shows, deserving to be checked into a mental ward themselves. Maybe everyone's got little secrets like that, deep down inside. I'm just unlucky. But that's no surprise. I always have been.

"So, J.T," she smiles politely. I stare, avoiding my eyes from the yellow pencil in her hand, "Interesting day on Saturday, wasn't it?" It's been a day in between since I saw Dr. Moon. There are no therapy sessions on Sunday, same as there's nothing else on Sunday in the outside world.

"Guess so."

"I wanted to know what you meant about what you said. About the color yellow?"

My breath catches in my throat for a moment, but I recover. I hate yellow…

"Nothing."

She stares at me. I can feel her eyes burning a hole in my head, even though I'm not looking at her. I want to forget about even being in this room. I don't want to remember any of it. I wish I had amnesia.

"Really? Nothing?"

I shake my head.

"Okay," she says, and scribbles on her notepad. This is surprising, since she usually jumps on all her victims and sucks them dry. Weird.

"Have you been feeling alright?"

"Yup," I say, my hands tightening around the armrest of the chair.

"What about Liberty? How's she been?"

My head snaps up at her, "How'd you know about Liberty?"

She smirks, "Your grandmother told me. I thought our sessions would benefit if we had a topic prepared."

I glare at her. That's just pure evil, bringing Liberty of all people up. Dr. Moon loves pouring salt into a wound. Hey, I'm a poet and I didn't even know it. Har, har, har.

"I don't talk to Liberty anymore."

I stare past her head at the painting of the ocean. White capped waves and a lighthouse in the distance. Is it suppose to calm me down? It just makes me angrier, that I actually have to sit in this room and be attacked like I've committed first degree murder. I haven't tried to murder _anyone_, thanks so much. Let's move on now.

"Maybe you should, since she's carrying your child."

I bet she can feel me squirming in my seat. She probably kills puppies and burns bugs to death in her spare time. Then she forces little children to work in factories like back in the 1800s or whatever, and then she beats them with her clipboard and stabs them with her stupid pencil.

"She doesn't want to talk to me. She's mad."

Scribble, scribble, scribble. I'd like to take that _yellow_ pencil and shove it up her nose. Or somewhere else less appropriate.

"And why is she mad?"

" 'Cause I did drugs. I tried to kill myself. She doesn't want me to be involved if I'm going to be an idiot." _Duh._

"Well, that's understandable," Dr. Moon says. I look around for an object to strangle her with, "But J.T, maybe she'll forgive you. Talk to her."

"She won't forgive me. Besides, even if she did, wouldn't she have said so?"

"It's very hard for someone to walk into a place like this," Don't I know it… "Maybe she's afraid."

"_Right_," She doesn't know Liberty. The Liberty I know is never afraid, "If Liberty really wanted to talk to me so bad, she'd do it."

"You never know. Why don't you call her?"

This woman shouldn't have been allowed to graduate. She's possessed by the Devil or something.

"No."

"You know, if both sides of the argument are being _stubborn_, nothing is ever going to get done."

"I'm not being stubborn. I'm being realistic. And I'm not calling her."

"You're scared, J.T. Try taking a risk."

"I've taken enough risks already, thanks. No way."

"Just think about it. This could be a real motivator for you. After all, what better reason to recover than to see your child be born?"

I hate her so much. She's right. I hate it when she's right.

I sit in the chair silently, because there's no way I'm actually agreeing with her out loud. It's painful enough to agree in my head.

"We can talk about something else if you'd like."

"No, I'm fine," I don't want to talk to her today, "You go ahead."

"Okay," she looks down, "Ellie Nash is a Level Two now."

Ellie bumped up a step? Why didn't she tell me? "Really?"

"Yes. She was willing to talk to me about a few things. Progress."

"Good for her. Now she can escort herself to therapy without a nurse!" my voice is dry and sardonic. Dr. Moon smiles.

"I'm glad you're so supportive. She needs it."

"I know."

"Did you ever think about supporting yourself that way?"

Softly I shake my head, "It's easier to support other people."

"Maybe, J.T. But in times like this, it can be much more rewarding to help yourself."


End file.
